In Where Obsessions of Different Sorts Collide
by May Sparrow
Summary: Cas's relationship with Finas becomes strained as his obsession for hunting Adelaide grows. Abner's obsession with hunting is given a thinking over when he notes startling similarities between himself and what should have been an easy target.
1. Interrogation

A/N: Hi guys! Lookit me, posting roleplay stuff here. [/ahem] May Sparrow here. This is a nice little idea MissDomaYuset and I came up with before we started _Prescription for Life_, which will be continued, not to worry! But anyway, I'm pretty sure we started this a little after _Solutions_ which was a big inspiration for certain characters.

But anyway, don't want to keep you waiting with a long author's note. On with the story!

_In Where Obsessions of Different Sorts Collide_

By MaySparrow and MissDomaYuset

Summary: Casimiro's relationship with Finas becomes strained as his obsession with finding Adelaide grows. Abner's obsession with hunting vampires may be given a second thinking over when he starts noticing startling similarities between himself and what should have been an easy target.

Characters: Abner, Conrad, Casimiro, Finas

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tessa Stone, and we make no profit in this. I'm only saying this once, guys. Don't sue me.

**|.|.|.|.|**

It was official. Conrad was pissed.

Not that he never wasn't pissed. It just wasn't often at this level. Obviously, the plot to try not to eat and therefore avoid Worth's office had proven childish and futile, and when he had shown up this night to finally eat, Worth, being the dick he was, seemed to home in on his pissy mood and make it worse, in that special way that made Worth _Worth_.

And it most certainly did _not_ help that Hanna had showed up about halfway through his meeting, and just hearing that boy's (Because Hanna was no way in heaven or hell a _man_) high pitched (see?) voice just rubbed Conrad the wrong way tonight, like rubbing satin at the wrong angle. Wait, was it satin or silk? Oh, who _cared_? All that mattered is that Conrad's temper had all but blown over, and then Hanna looked hurt and Worth made even more fun of him and-

And…

Conrad had stormed out, empty-handed and possibly even more pissed off than he had been. Lord knows he was starving and angry and he did _not_ want to go home to Veser with his feet on the couch playing with that stupid Nintendo when he could be doing something _productive _but who was he kidding this was Veser for God's sake-

Infuriated, Conrad halted from his jolty pace under a lamplight, kicking the brick wall beside him with all his might. Said wall apparently was too hard for the vampire and he cursed loudly into the dark, gripping the front of his foot with a vengeance. "Damn it all to hell!" he muttered darkly, trying to shake it off and continuing forward with a slight limp.

Oh, could this night get any worse?

Conrad could not say that. He could _not_, or else it _would _get worse and the night was still young and AGH! Gripping his head in his hands, Conrad growled darkly. He continued walking past the neon signs that proclaimed each bar, most of which were likely to be shady and greasy and hey, maybe Lamont was in one of them wouldn't that be awkward?

Muttering angrily in his low English accent, Conrad hugged himself, gripping his long black sleeves to the point of tearing. _Alright Conrad. Relax. You're just hungry._ Well, he knew _that._ That was _so _helpful, now, wasn't it? Uncurling his tense fingers from his hoodie sleeves slowly, Conrad was painfully aware of his stomach grumbling, and his hands moved to grab at the area, hopefully to silence it.

He wanted to go home. He _needed_ to go home. Before Veser did something _stupid_. But he really didn't want to go _right now,_ in this mood. Lord knows it would either block up his artist's muse, or he would draw something extremely violent and he did _not_want to explain that to his therapist, not really. Heaven knows she was already suspicious about all his rescheduling.

Sighing weakly (albeit unnecessarily), Conrad paused, leaning against the filthy wall he'd been walking by, making sure not to actually _touch_it. He'd have to wash this hoodie later. Pushing his glasses out of the way, Conrad rubbed his eyes weakly. He felt a little sick inside, empty. Hollow. Was that because he hadn't been eating?

Heaving an unnecessary sigh (old habits were hard to break), Conrad crossed his arms, eyes closed. Maybe he'd take the long way home tonight. He could try to clear his mind. His therapist had told him the best sort of stress medication was to clear everything away, and with a mind like his, we would do so by ordering it out and shelving it. To do so would take time, time Conrad could get if he just wandered tonight.

And if he wanted to really get away, he could always try to turn into a bat. He was getting used to it (he thought) even though it was uncomfortable. But that would be a last resort.

Scratching his cheek, Conrad carefully pushed himself off the wall and continued walking forward, with no direction in mind. He stuck close to the graffiti-covered wall, and wouldn't stop until his feet would feel ready to give out.

**|.|.|.|.|**

The sky had long since darkened to the point where Casimiro and Finas were free to venture out into grimy streets of Queens without fear of being reduced to a pile of ash. It was strange when you thought about it. Vampires had so many weaknesses, so many ridiculous _flaws_… And yet, _and yet,_ they were thought to be the most terrifying creatures in **existence**- _well._ They used to be, before that blasted_ Twilight _novel came out.

And the _movies._  
><em><br>Dear god._

It gave Casimiro something to laugh about- and he was sure Finas thought it was amusing for a while as well. Sparkling in the sunlight? How delightfully mad of the author to concoct such an inane tall tale.  
><em><br>Though…_

Casimiro wasn't doing any laughing tonight. He hadn't been laughing in the past few days really, and the blame mostly settled on the growing pain in his cursed eye. That blasted cursed _eye…_Admittedly, it looked positively intimidating on the surface, a feature- the only feature Casimiro actually appreciated. Everything else, he hated.

He hated how difficult it was to see out of the eye.

He hated how the pain never went away. Never lost its edge. He'd learned to cope with it- after so many years, how could one not? _But the pain was still there…_

And lastly, he hated, he hated how it served as a constant reminder of that night.

Of his Sire.

Of_ her.  
><em>  
>And how after so, so many years…<p>

He just couldn't seem able to catch up with her. Never being able to successfully pin her down and finally finish her. She was good at staying one step ahead. He hated that. No, it was more than that- it was driving him** nuts.**

Not that it ever showed well. And it wasn't because he was repressing his feeling to appear reserved, to appear as though it didn't bother him, to appear dignified in some ludicrous way. No.

There was another reason why he hated the curse. He couldn't get too angry, he couldn't lose control because if he did…_ if he did…_  
><em><br>God…_

…No, not God. This was the work of the** Devil.** It had to be, because at this very moment, his eye was hurting like hell. The cool air that rushed past, enveloping himself and his long, long, long time companion in its chilling embrace did little to distract him. The empty streets below, did little to entrain him, even though he and Finas were perched up high on the rooftop of a random building that _Does-Things–That-Don't-Matter_ for those that_ Who-Gives-A-Shit._ And the….what, seven, eight stars peeking though the mucked up sky certainly did not enchant him.

No, all that mattered was that his eye was hurting, he was more irritated than usual, and as predicted, that red-head was completely useless in finding ANYTHING useful about her.

He was getting impatient.

He stared down intently down at the streets, almost_ willing_ a human to wander out alone- someone to not only fest on, but to also vent out his frustrations. "Deficienti!" he spat out to the humans who were not there in growing frustration. "I hate it when the humans take so long to go out!"

Finas was silent beside his taller companion, studying both the night and the vampire at his side. While his opposite watched the streets below, Finas focused on the sky, darkened by the clouds of pollution. He missed the stars in Europe. One could never see them in London, but in the countryside like Derbyshire, the night was clear and beautiful.

He missed home, he supposed. Not greatly, but the traces of reminisce were there every once in a while. He had given up everything for Casimiro, because he had seen his friend's obsession and decided he would stay with him, to rein him in. But Cas was so… _drawn in _by this need to find his Sire, to remove this curse that he seemed to blame entirely on her… It was too much. Finas was growing tired.

He had noticed his partner's tense behavior. He knew everything about the younger man; did he actually expect to hide it from him? They were the complete opposite of each other, yet they'd been together long enough to almost be able to read each other's mind by seeing the other's face. He could tell Casimiro was aggravated, and he knew why.

But when would he let this go? When would he learn to let everything go, like Finas had long ago, when his family had died? There was a time to hold onto things, and there was a time to move on. Why couldn't his partner understand that?

Drawing his attention back to the streets, Finas's sharp eyes quickly picked out the streak of black and red moving unsteadily down the sidewalk, coming towards them. Almost instantly, he could see every detail of said streak of color, which took form as a man, highly familiar.

"Cas." Even the one syllable was unnecessary; Cas had probably already seen him and recognized him as another spawn of the purple-favoring vampiress. Finas studied the thin gangly vampire below them, his expression blank. The man seemed… _tense_. Another one of those tonight. Had Finas been human, he would have sighed; as it was, he found no point in wasting breath.

He honestly questioned Adelaide's wisdom when choosing this one. He showed no signs of even _trying_ to be vampiric in the least; if anything, he was more like those vampires in _Twilight _than real vampires. Which was saying something, because there were no flattering qualities about him.

Thin, pessimistic, and weak, Conrad Achenleck seemed to be under the delusion he was still human. He refused eating like any normal vampire, reduced to blood packets, and even skipping out on _those_. His glasses made him rather, using an American term, dorky, and his hair… seriously made Finas question his sexuality. When one questions sexuality because of a hairstyle, you know there's a problem.

Despite all this -or perhaps because of it- he was an interesting specimen. Finas enjoyed such puzzles. He hoped to keep this one alive- or, as alive as he was now.

Casimiro continued glaring holes into the pavement below, when he noticed a certain someone having a small fit of sorts as he walked along the sidewalk, totally oblivious that he had a small audience watching him. His first reaction was that there was finally a human he could pummel into- until that whiney tone from the failpire reached his ears. "Would you look at that Finas- it's the kid…" he murmured absent-mindedly. It took a moment for the gears to turn in his mind, but when it did, it did.

"It's the KID!" he repeated, this time with far more enthusiasm. Adelaide's fledging! It was beyond him why he didn't simply go after him- but then, he understood why he may not have taken the kid so seriously (if at all). The kid seemed utterly worthless. And from what he could tell- he didn't even drink fresh human blood- those fresh bite marks were an obvious clue of that.

There must have been a reason, she must have had some kind of contact with him since he last saw him (and kicked him in the face).

He quickly shot up and ran across the edge of the roof top and jumped off the ledge. He knew Finas would know what he was up too, he knew him far too well. But if he did follow, it wasn't so he'd also join in the little interrogation- it'd be most likely to keep Casimiro from losing control again, and keep him from losing his humanity.

He landed expertly onto his feet- just _inches_ from Conrad's face. This wasn't an accident- he enjoyed making an entrance; and if he could intimidate the failpire from the get-go, the chances of him telling him the truth was very high.

Conrad had felt his anger steaming out of him slowly, far too slowly, as he walked. However, his headache had begun to fade, to his relief.

That is, until a certain something landed right in front of him, causing him to curse and stumble back. "Gyuh!" Almost losing his balance, Conrad steadied himself, taking (unnecessary) pants. "Guh- Don't-" such stuttering of the tongue halted almost instantly as Conrad recognized his tormentor, and he felt a frown pull over his face.

It was that absolute _arse_ Casimiro. Reminded of their last meeting together, Conrad resisted the urge to cover his nose. Gah, it had never healed correctly since (Maybe the fact that he hadn't had any fresh human blood didn't help). And he had been shown up by a _girl_. Oh, sure, Toni was nice, but she seemed to be under the impression he couldn't defend himself.

At least Casimiro had gotten his fair share of beatings from her, too. And she hadn't gotten hurt, thanks to the Casimiro's companion… Finas? Whatever his name was, Conrad was slightly grateful Casimiro had _someone_ to tame him. Though he always seemed a tad late to stop the Italian vampire's shenanigans.

Like now, for instance.

"Any reason why you're trespassing on our hunting grounds kid?" Cas asked with sinister smirk as he narrowed the gap between the two with a harsh jab to the other vampire's chest.

Conrad withheld a hiss. Their _hunting _grounds? In public? The idiots! He also took offense at the smirk directed at his face, sinister, as though trying to terrorize him. Like that was going to work; all he had managed to do thus far was piss him off further. Besides, it wasn't exactly a secret he didn't hunt.

Cas wasn't going with a direct approach, no, not yet. It'd be honestly kinda fun to shake up the kid first, make him think he did something dreadfully wrong- which in a way he already did. He brought shame to the vampire name- more than that (ugh) book. Not to say he actually _cared _about the vampire name- just revenge.

Sweet, sweet revenge…

Casimiro didn't give Conrad a chance to respond, not before grabbing the young male by the collar of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall.

Eyes narrowed, the "vampire" felt his offense strengthen as the other jabbed to his chest. He raised his hand to rub the area, about ready to shoot a cold remark as his rebuttal, when he suddenly felt his collar being gripped. Yelping, the short man felt a sharp pain run up his back and through his head as he was slammed into the brick wall he had been clinging to. He flailed madly, slapping at the Italian's wrist pathetically. Upon realizing he wasn't getting anywhere, he finally gave up, throwing his hands down and wincing at his aching head.

"…You're absolutely pitiful- you know that?" the taller laughed.

Upon hearing the man's insult, Conrad looked away sheepishly, actually a little insulted (mainly because he knew it to be true). "Don't remind me," he muttered darkly. He then brought his eyes back up to meet Casimiro's, voice strengthening. "Now can you let _go_?" His attitude, dark as was, had taken another turn for the worse already.

Casimiro chuckled, but his expression was drifting off into a different direction- a darker one. "…No. I don't think I will."

Oh, where was the man's partner? Why wouldn't he get him out of this already? Looking over the man's shoulder, Conrad noted said partner walking almost nonchalantly towards them, silent as usual. Upon seeing him, Conrad flailed a little more, hoping for a little pity (because he was so sad he actually _needed _it).

"Casimiro." The man spoke without a glance at him, yet was that a trace of warning in his tone? Was Conrad imagining it, or were there traces of worry in his face?

No, he must be imagining it. He wriggled again, feeling absolutely idiotic. "I haven't even _done_ anything!"

Looked like the kid wasn't as cowardly as Cas had thought- but then it was all too possible that this may just be a severe case of stupidity. He heard Finas coming up behind him and saying his name. He said it in that _tone _he usually did in when he was warning Casimiro that he may be going too far.

But…he_ wasn't._ This was completely rational. "Relax Finas. I wasn't just randomly attacking this guy," he said, as though he was justifying his actions. He looked at the kid again and responded to him, "And you haven't done anything _yet_. You will, for me. That is if you want to keep your pretty head on."

Finas's expression darkened only slightly as Casimiro answered him and returned to his little 'interrogation.' The man was such an idiot sometimes. Shaking his head slightly, Finas stepped forward but did not intervene, keeping his face on Casimiro's back and Conrad's face, sending him a slight apologetic look, which was returned with a dark glare (and possibly a pleading expression, but it could have been his imagination).

Finas wasn't stupid. He knew Casimiro. He knew who Sired Conrad. He should already have had an idea of what he was up too. While Casimiro knew that Finas's anger died down long ago, _he _knew Casimio's only grew.

He knew him so well…

So then… why was he warning him? Even if he wasn't interested in taking revenge anymore, he shouldn't try and get in the way.

His grip tightened on Conrad's collar as he lifted him up a few inches off the ground, still pressing him against the multi-colored paint stained wall. "After all, I _do_have some business with him…" His glare grew harsh and raw.

"Your sire. Adelaide. Where is she?" he asked, venom dripping off every word. "You're her new fledging- surely she had some form of contact with you."

He felt his anger growing- and with it his eye burning. He bit at the insides of his cheek in order to keep his fury in check. He didn't want to tear this kid limb from limb before he spilt any useful information. At least…_not yet._

"I'm not a very patient man kid. I suggest you start talking," he added. The kid had better not give him a wrong answer. His eye was burning, burning like it usually did when he allowed his emotions to get the better of him.

Cas's captive looked a little sick, sputtering slightly as he was lifted off the ground. He wriggled madly, and Finas withheld a slight disgusted expression, trying to keep his face as blank as possible, as was usual. This was sad, really. The fact that a new fledgling could not even fight off a single-handed grip… Though, it was Casimiro, he was rather strong.

…Was Finas actually defending the failure of a vampire? How peculiar. He quickly drew his attention to said failure, who was trying to form coherent sentences. He seemed to be struggling, due to his… current position.

Conrad started squirming, finally having the desired reaction of _fear_. Had Casimiro not been so focused on getting answers, he would have stopped and savored the moment. Not to say he was the _type_ to enjoy making others squirm- it was just that Conrad was always such a stuck up _priss _to him. Seeing him like this would be satisfying to anyone who found the young man's personality less than likable.

At least that was how it was in Casimiro's head.

"I- I don't know!" Conrad spat out, expression twisted from some horrid memory. "The last time I saw that annoying _woman_-" the man practically shuddered at the word- "I was being _shot_ at! It's not like I've exactly wanted to see the monster that turned me into- _this!_!" Achenleck's voice actually seemed to strengthen with passion and honesty, and even a little anger as he spoke. This surprised Finas to no end.

But he doubted this answer would please Cas; he had heard the venom in his friend's words, and he had a feeling the eye was burning again. Even if Casimiro would never tell him, the idiot. He really believed he could take care of himself, keep secrets from him.

This was getting far out of hand. Not the interview- the obsession. The obsession with Adelaide. It was far too much for Casimiro to handle alone, and he would never share it with Finas. It could have been different; they could have worked together and planned it carefully, among other things. Casimiro could have _lived_.

But instead he took up all his time with… with _this_. It wasn't healthy. People were going to get hurt.

Conrad was looking a little frightened now; something about Casimiro's face was causing him to feel endangered. Finas couldn't see it at this angle, but he could already imagine the expression on Casimiro's face. If things took a turn for the worst, Finas would step in, but right now, no one was getting hurt yet.

When Conrad started yelping about how he _had _seen Adelaide, no matter how brief the moment may have been, it was more than enough to excite the Italian. "Where? Where did you see her? When was this?" he asked, shaking the failpire slightly, still holding him up in the air.

Had he still had the need for breath, it would have hitched at the suggestion that Conrad may have something useful.

He would have been taking in larger breaths out of anticipation, ready to jump at the next piece of information and just take it and _run_.

The anger, much to Conrad's luck, temporarily subsided for an irrational high expectation of the quality and accuracy of Conrad's answer- which meant that once he realized that Conrad was a bit too busy trying to live than pay any sort of attention to where Adelaide came from, or even what direction _she_ fled, that rage that had been set aside would come rolling out at him with full force.

As the vampire continued to jump down his throat, seemingly only hearing every other word, Conrad squirmed angrily still, becoming more and more uncomfortable as long as he was pinned to this dirty, _dirty _wall.

And then he was being shaken and his head was hitting it and _ow_. He resisted opening his mouth but continued wincing as the back of his head smacked the wall _every single time OW._ He barely had time to focus on the questions that were being thrown at him left and right. "Guh! Calm the hell down!" he shouted at the man before remembering who the hell he was speaking to and _who was pinning who _against the wall here.

"All ri- A week ago, at least! Maybe more! I just-" Conrad tried to spit out _what he was trying to say already SPIT IT OUT MAN. _"I was with some Italian guy- I was being shot at! I- she left before I could know what was going on! Everything was moving so fast- I don't remember where she went!"

He couldn't think straight, his head was hurting, his stomach was screaming, he wanted to go _home_. And he didn't know if this man was going to kill him but it was goddamn highly _likely _at this point because he was not helping his own case.

At that moment his stomach decided to prove how annoying it really could be at the worst of times; it burst into another loud growl (no, more than a growl, almost the equivalent of a _shout_) and he winced. "Fuckin-" It was like he was asking to be killed, he was asking to just piss everyone off, including himself. It was painful, but more than that, it was _irritating_.

The man felt queasy, both from the situation and the inner turmoil going on. He stuttered weakly –"I don't know- I've told you everything, please let me go!" His eyes shifted from the Italian gripping him to the Englishman behind him. "I just- _please!_" Reduced to pleading, he squeezed his eyes shut, sickened at his acts, and pained by tight grip on his shoulders.

He could not believe his situation- every night seemed to end negatively for him nowadays. If he wasn't being shot at, he was being insulted by Worth or near-killed by Hanna or knocking Veser's feet off the couch or being smashed against a dirty wall or, _heaven forbid_, being called by his mother at least once every week. The last thought perhaps wasn't the worst, but it was pretty high up on his list.

At last, Conrad gave up against the hands holding him up, going limp, almost exhausted. He missed the slight worried look that passed over the other Englishman's eyes for barely a moment, as his own were shut in defeat.

He was starving, battered, and tired. He just wanted to go home.

That was… That was the absolutely the worst thing that Conrad could possibly have said to him. That, and the fact that it was _painfully _obvious that he really wasn't withholding any information. Asides from the fact that he had no reason to protect Adelaide (true, most fledglings do tend to be loyal to their Sires, but Conrad was obviously not spending any time with Adelaide, otherwise he wouldn't have been sucking from blood packets or hanging out with a Zombie and a Ginger when he should have been honing his new-unfound-abilities), his expression, his pitiful, hopeless, desperately helpless expression was just like the one he'd see on a human before he took a little bite.

The expression that **screamed **_'please don't kill me, I'll say/do anything'_

And then the way he just went limp- a signal that he'd given up on fighting back. Did he really have no cards to play, no secrets to reveal?

Was this yet_ another _dead end?

And the fact that Adelaide did meet Conrad but couldn't care enough to aid her own fledgling in fleeing from a Vampire Hunter was a clear sign that not only did she not care for him but might have even left him for dead. Chances were, unless Conrad sought her out himself, he may never see her again (and even then- she was _incredibly_difficult to find- Conrad had no hope).

"So then… you're useless then?" he hissed. His humanity- no need to restrain himself anymore for this whelp now, was there? A dead end was a dead end. And if anything, he'd be just as interesting to her dead as alive… well. Just as alive a Vampire could get. And he'd be damned if Finas tried to stop him this time. He knew how much he hated unnecessary violence, but dammit- when would it end? The dead ends, the turn-arounds, the faulty information that sometimes led them across oceans?

"Perhaps it's better that you died then kid," he said in a low voice. "You're a distraction."

The skin peeled back from his eye in wisps of smoke as he retracted his arm to tear into the young artist's face, oblivious to a fourth person approaching the scene.

**|.|.|.|.|**

Oh, one more thing. I'm going to be gone for the next two weeks, leaving you guys wth this horrible cliffhanger. But don't worry, Ill be back with many more chapters for you to feast on!


	2. Escape

A/N: Chapter two! God, I am so happy to be able to get this up while on vacation. Just... makes me happy.

ALSO: Important note about PFL! Listen up guys! (yeah, 4 exclamations. PAY ATTENTION.) Doma hasn't been able to get the chapter up because the site hasn't been letting her in. PLEASE, though, she's putting chapters on deviantART. Look us up! We need more attention there!

**|.|.|.|.|**

It was a cool evening just like any other. And as much as Abner would have liked to stay home, where everything was clean and in its place, he knew he had a duty to the city- no, to mankind in general. As filthy as everyone else may have lived, he enjoyed their company far more then he assumed he would in a city overrun by the walking dead.

Disgusting, that was what it was…

It was beyond him how they could live with themselves. Didn't they realize how revolting it was, having to depend on drinking blood in order to survive? (The mere thought putting ones lips on some stranger's neck- the sweat, dirt, germs, sickness…) And how disturbing it was that their organs no longer really served a purpose anymore- so they just sat there, rotting. How gross their pale skin was- how eerie their dead set eyes were?

And the blood- the dead, unmoving blood in their veins!

How could they stand it?

So as much as he wanted to stay home, eat boiled vegetables, and watch some of his favorite reruns of Monk on his plastic covered couch with Para Para peacefully napping on his lap, he had an obligation to the good (if not dirty) city of New York to rid as much filth as he could as possible.

By means of blessed bullets.

With mask and goggles ready to protect himself from (ugh) blood splatter, he walked down the street of where he received a call of a disturbance. The caller was likely some old bat (haha, pun) looking out her window and had found his number in the phonebook- or some kid pulling his leg again.

..."This better not be a joke," he muttered to his faithful companion as he walked down the sidewalk- and soon enough, it turned out not to be.

Three Vampires- or was it two vampires and a human? (No, no, that was a Vampire- pathetic looking, but a Vampire none the less) He couldn't tell really, Vampires were like rats. They tended to stay in packs and rarely attacked one another unless there was a territory dispute or a shortage of food.

And as Vampires would never fight over such a low-class street such as this one, the former was scratched out.

And the latter, as there was no signs of a human.

He could recognize two of them right off the bat as Casimiro and Finas, but the third was obscured from view slightly. No matter. Maybe he could clip one from this distance…

He raised his shotgun and cocked it. They seemed distracted enough. He raised the gun and aimed it at the dark skinned on before applying pressure to the trigger.

Many things happened at once.

One- Finas's eyes were drawn to Casimiro's humanity, slipping away in the stagnant air, revealing the bone underneath, pale and ugly. His mind moved accordingly, quickly, faster than any human mind ever could.

Two- The victim beneath Casimiro's hand followed his other bony one, eyes widening and melting into an open expression of fear. His mouth opened, but no sound escaped it; it was an unflattering expression, but that was the least of anyone's worries.

Three- The older English vampire's sharp ears picked up a barely audible 'click'. Almost instantly, old familiar memories came to mind. The oldest were of England, hunting the deer long ago.

The more recent, however, were of a human being whose existence annoyed Finas mainly because he hunted Vampires and was actually _good _at it. His persistence knew no bounds, and his bullets were pesky buggers to get out.

But that click. Finas knew that click. He knew that gun like he had held it in his own hands. He knew that click was a very bad sign.

He acted accordingly.

Four- Finas threw himself at the changing Casimiro, pushing himself and the Italian out of the way, leaving the younger man to fend for himself. Said man slipped from the wall and crumpled to the ground, yelping as the bullet shattered the wall where his shoulder had been previously.

Casimiro's hand, much like his face had also gone through the change, morphing into sharp skeletal talons ready to slash through the fledgling's terror stricken face and end him with just a few fatal swipes. He'd be lying if he said he never enjoyed the process of doing such a thing, because if there was one thing Casimiro loved, it was the feeling of dominating something else, that feeling of utter _power_, giving him the illusion that he was in control when in reality he knew that was not the case in the least.

But before he could lay a scratch on the kid, Finas suddenly pulled him away _quite_ forcibly. This was not only infuriating but also confusing- Finas rarely used such extreme physical force restrain him, so it was startling that he did so to _presumably _to protect some sad little failpire.

But through his good eye, before he could snarl out any sort of protest, he saw the shattering of red brick caused by the bullet that _narrowly _missed his would-be victim. He didn't need to look to see where it came from because by then it was already painfully clear.

They were now being hunted by that irritating man with the rat.

"Cazzo," Casimiro cursed under his breath- such glorious timing this hunter had! Undoubtedly he'd kill Conrad first- he was the weakest and seemed too shocked to remember that he had _legs_ and could _run_. Which was good for himself and his companion- killing the kid would earn them some extra time to fly away and flee from an otherwise a time consuming pointless battle.

Though, he _wouldn't mind _a good fight at the moment…

Finas felt for the fledgling, truly he did, but he had his own hide to protect, plus that of the Italian in his arms. He gripped the Italian tightly, ignoring any squirming and fighting that might be occurring. He did not care that Cas was angry and half-changed, they needed to leave _now_, they needed to change into bats and leave, he would _make_ him change if he had to.

Because despite their being old and powerful, despite their having years of experience, _they could still die_. And that human, that weak, mortal, human, could be the one to do it. And damn it to hell, Finas would never let that happen to Casimiro. No matter how idiotic the Italian was, Finas would not let him be so stupid to stay here for something as pointless as revenge.

Dragging the Italian along quickly, Finas tore them away from the scene, abandoning the fledgling to the annoying human VanSlyk. He did not look back, did not catch the slight betrayed, fearful look sent to his back as he fled, as the artist was quick to recognize the gun-wielding masked human.

"Come along, Cas," he muttered quietly as his tough pale knuckles turned to small black claws, coat sleeves turning to dark wings. "Whatever happened to being civil? Being the better man?" He said nothing about the Vampire Hunter; he doubted Casimiro was even aware he had been there.

Casimiro didn't want to answer that. That question was a joke. Why should he worry about being civil? He needed _results_, he needed _her_ head on a silver platter- not a shiny medal for _maturity._ The burning sensation on his hands and face was already cooling down, as he was now getting a grip over his boiling anger for a few brief moments- moments long enough to allow him to focus well enough to turn into a bat himself. It happened so swiftly, _one step, two steps, _**up and away**.

But while his anger was now pushed aside (though it would be eventually released later into the night, in the form of a frustrated rant and the destruction of an inanimate object) his expression was still tense.

"We can continue this later, when your eye is not bothering you. Maybe then you will be in a better mood to 'talk'," the small darker bat muttered.

Talk.

That was all Finas really seemed interested in doing. _Talking_. He didn't need a talk. He already knew what Finas would say. He's complain about his rash behavior, and how he should think before he leapt and whatever cookie cutter advice he could toss at him- and Casimiro would have to pretend to listen and promise things he'll never keep. He didn't want to argue with his frie-

"Idiot."

Because that's what Casimiro was. Completely idiotic and angry and resentful and just plain emotional. Were all Italians like this? Had the man needed to breathe, he would have sighed.

Never mind.

Cas was going to kick his _ass_.

How was _he_ the idiot? He was the only one doing anything- if it were up to Finas, they'd be sitting around coffee tables all night doing _nothing_ but wasting their eternal lives away. This thought caused him to automatically flap his leathery wings even harder, gaining more air and speed, and easily over passing Finas. He didn't have to look back to know that they were _more_ than a safe distance away from the Vampire Hunter- it was easy to cover large distances in a few short moments, especially if you were flying over large obstacles like fences and buildings. Because of this, he chose to land on the rooftop of the upcoming building, turning back into his human form just a few feet away from the top surface so when he landed he landed with his two good _feet._

He rubbed at his eye and took in a breath- not because his body needed it, because it _didn't_, but because his eye still ached with that burning sensation, that sensation that only got worse when he allowed his anger to take control of him.

He wanted to be angry.

He felt he had a right to be angry.

But he couldn't go demonic on Finas. He was the only one that he refused to turn his darker side on- so the temperamental Italian was forced to mutter little things under his breath and sucked in one last breath. He held that breath for as long as he could before letting out a strained sigh.

"Odio vicoli ciechi. Cazzo li odio!" He turned around quickly to glare at Finas- whom he assumed to have landed to follow him.

"Your lack of support is irritating me, Finas."


	3. Goldfish

A/N: NYAAAA. Hi. I'm back from vacation with a new chapter. Back to the hunter and failpire now. And a nice little cameo from a green-eyed punk.

ALSO: today is Doma's birthday! Give her presents and candy! D8 DO EEET. [/shot]

[/so hyper] Okay, ignore me, we have a chapter to read.

Don't forget to review!

GOLDFISH AND OATIES BELONG TO WHOEVER MAKES EM.

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He had a clear shot. But he had the misfortune of forgetting that Finas was a bit more observant than most.

A tight frown formed from behind his mask as the bulky man managed to pull the dark skinned one out of the way of danger. He had good reflexes. He fired again, this time aiming for the bearded fellow, but he was too late. At that point they were already bats and _very _small targets. The bullet whizzed in the air harmlessly into the air as the two leather rats with wings flew away to safety- leaving behind the third, rather betrayed looking vampire.

This was unusual for Abner because vampires _rarely_ left behind one of their own. They tended to stick together like some sort of undead family. This was touching to a certain extent- but they were still _dead_, and they still routinely killed innocent people every day. Or god forbid, _turned _them.

They were a problem that had to be dealt with.

But first…

The one that was left behind.

He continued to advance on the pale young man, already raising his shotgun up to eyelevel. This one wasn't moving. He was crumbled against the ground looking absolutely _awful_.

That… and familiar.

He lowered the gun, now only a few feet away from the vampire and looked over his appearance. Yes, those strange new age clothes that seemed better fit for a teenage hipster, those glasses, that tuft of neatly cared for hair… This man, he had met before.

He tried to kill him before.

He was Adelaide's fledging.

He was in the same car as a back-alley doctor who _healed_monsters and a black market delivery boy.

He was** Adelaide's **_fledging._

He lowered the gun, drawing out a confused 'Dook?' from his loyal pet. It hissed warningly at Conrad, but eased down as Abner reached around and stroke his little head for a moment. Kneeling down, he kept his eyes locked on Conrad's face, faintly seeing a bit of his own reflection in his glasses. He saw the blurs of blues and grinned slightly from behind the mask and wondered if Conrad would recognize him.

After all- he never really had a much of a chance of introducing himself. Honestly, the boy was lucky that he escaped with his life.

Conrad Achenleck was left to stare after the vampires, contemplating his predicament, recognizing that mask anywhere. He scrambled back, his black hooded coat hitting the wall. Wonderful. Left to be killed by the obsessive man who had been part of the reason he'd almost died several seconds before (if that made any sense). Staring up at those terrifying goggles approaching him, almost _glowing_, no, they _were _glowing.

He was going to die, wasn't he?

The artist squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately not to shake. Well, this might be less painful than what Casimiro might have had in store for him, or heaven forbid, what _Hanna _might have caused. (Wait, was he even criticizing Hanna now, the minutes before his death?)

Hearing a small "dook" from the ferret made Conrad aware that he was still alive (or at least, _his _version of alive), as did the small hiss that quieted down. Peeking one eye open frantically, Conrad was surprised and frightened to find almost nothing but blue in his vision (those damn goggles). Giving a small gasp (despite not needing to breathe), Conrad pushed even farther into the wall vainly. "Nuh, God, no-"

Shifting the gun in his arm, the hunter raised the barrel and thrust it into Conrad's face. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're Mr. Achenleck aren't you?" His voice was even, though the mask that protected him from the nastiness that these creatures of the night tended to carry with them made it muffled slightly. Not enough for him to not make any sense luckily enough.

The barrel of the gun was thrust in his face, terrifying the vampire further, barely hearing the question and, when it finally registered, hardly capable of responding (why the hell would he say yes anyway?).

"…You seem to have been abandoned by your own kind. That's rather unfortunate. I'll be frank though. You're likely to die tonight, as dead as someone like _you_ can possibly get."

As the man continued to speak, Conrad forced himself to listen, almost instantly regretting it. Like he didn't _know_ he'd just been abandoned! He really didn't need to hear it again, and it was both rude to repeat and painful to hear. Like he didn't know, odds were he was going to die. Some gutsy part of the vampire wanted to snort at that, he wasn't a _complete _idiot.

He paused.

Obviously, what the hunter was about to suggest wouldn't be too much of a threat to his own well being. It was clear, so clear that Conrad couldn't pose any sort of threat to him even if he tried.

But this…

This feeling of dread…

The hunter (what was his name anyway?) paused, and Conrad waited for the trigger to be pulled, for that familiar darkness to come over him (would a vampire death be the same as a human death?)

He waited.

And waited.

The shot he had expected was replaced with words, words he had never expected but never believed he could find so much comfort in.

"…But I propose a deal of sorts."

Conrad let out his breath, not realizing he had been holding it since the masked man had paused. Out of nowhere, he felt a choked laugh slip past his half-clogged throat. "A-A deal?" In the words of a poet, such sweeter words a man never did hear. Or something like that.

The laughter died quickly, however, as he recalled whose company he was in, and he realized he still had to give the man an answer.

When the vampire laughed, Abner thought for sure he was laughing at his offer. Which was expected, most vampires were proud fools that would rather die than to make a deal with a lowly _human_. But he was prepared to take a more aggressive approach, prepared to force the vampire into doing what he wants. This vampire was the best lead since… _ever _for finding the infamous Adelaide. He could imprison him, torture him…

"Y-Yes! Fuck yes!" Conrad grinned almost gratefully, his snaggletooth exposed momentarily (a tick board popped to mind, shoved away quickly by the problem at hand). He could _live_.

He had to slow down, he didn't know for a fact what this deal was. Then again, did it really matter? Anything to keep him alive another night was enough for the man to grasp at.

…

_What?_

The expression from behind the mask was positively priceless. Alright, not only did the vampire agree on taking the deal, he seemed _damned_ eager to take it. No, no surely this was just… sarcasm. _No _vampire would be so…

"I'll do anything!" he breathed at the man. "Whatever you want!" _Just please let me live. Please._

…_awful._

He stilled for a moment. He at least maybe anticipated some sort of _hesitance_, so… this was interesting. _He_ was interesting. "Alright Mr. Achenleck," he said with a slight pause. If the hostage is willing, then shouldn't the lack of resistance be rewarded with a _lack of violence_?

As the hunter stilled, Conrad panicked for a moment; had he done something wrong? Had he just signed his own death sentence somehow? Oh, what had he done _now?_

But he spoke, and Conrad felt his body relax where it was on the wall (oh _ew_). Did this mean he wasn't going to be harmed? He paused, cocking his head slightly as he listened.

"I'll explain it as simply as I can. For the past few years, I've been hunting down your sire. I know you are her fledging, and I know that you're her childe." He knew this because word spreads _quickly_ in the underworld. And many, _many_ seemed to have a difficult time understanding why she sired some tawny artist that never did anything all to worthy of _her _attention. Abner was convinced that there had to of been some kind of… accident. Because on top of this clearly weak and unmannered less-than-vampire, there were gaping bite marks, unhealed still, and an obvious lack of training.

Most Sires tend to take in their Childe, to train them to mold them into worthy successors.

Conrad was yet to even be touched still.

He nodded to that, a small frown succumbing him as he was reminded of how _that_came about. He hadn't been aware how long Adelaide had been a threat to society; his relationship with her hardly expanded farther than her hijacking his room, stealing his clothes, and draining him dry, the bitch.

"It's unheard of, for a Sire to ignore his or her fledging. Adelaide will eventually make contact with you once she comes to terms with your… existence. The nature of this contact will come in the form of her ether training you, or to eliminate you from her bloodline." He wasn't trying to strike fear into the vampire- he was simply stating facts. But if he did frighten him that was a good thing. He'd want to trust Abner to protect him which in turn would allow him to get closer to him, which would heighten his chances of getting to kill Adelaide.

Though he fully intended to dispose of Mr. Achenleck once his usefulness was no more.

Conrad visibly flinched at this; she'd already seen him, hadn't she? The hunter might be right about her trying to remove him; after all, she had been trying to kill him, not create him! How long would it be fore that happened? She already knew where he lived (oh, irony)!

"It really boils down to _when_ she makes contact. When she does, I kill her and my business is done with you. Of course…" Ugh, no, no, this was the worse part. Necessary. NOT the first time. But it never got any easier.

Conrad had been nodding weakly at the hunter's words, but that pause caught him off guard. Why did he pause, _why_did he pause? That could not mean anything-"…I'll have to stake out at your place Mr. Achenleck"-good.

Stakeouts- the hunter hated them but he knew when one was necessary. But god, _god_ how did this vampire live? Never mind the vampires bit- others in _general _lived so comfortably today in utter filth!

He wanted to add more, but opted to wait for a reaction from the vampire instead. After all, would he be so eager then to make the deal?

Well, shit. Of all the bad news this man could give him, why that? Why ask _that_, of all things? And Conrad couldn't say _no_, he didn't want to be shot! The artist squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard into the empty pit of his stomach that still hurt. Suddenly this wasn't such a good idea.

Well, it was a bit late for that, now, wasn't it? He'd already given his consent, he couldn't back out now, could he? He was stuck in his apartment with him and- shit. Veser. Veser was still at the apartment. Veser was _still at the apartment_.

He nodded furiously, clearly uncomfortable with the situation but he'd have to make do. "A-Alright. You can stay there, I suppose. But-" how was he supposed to explain to him that there was a fucking kid back at his apartment who'd lost his best friend and was a pain in the ass with nowhere to go? "I- There's this kid at my apartment. He- He's been needing a place. I-" he swallowed again, dryly. "I need to make a phone call. Just-" At that very moment, the iPhone in his pocket rang the familiar Kooks song, his favorite. Mr. Maker. It was kind of ironic how poorly it fit into his own situation.

The vampire was frozen for a moment, then scrambled for the phone nervously, giving a sigh of relief at the home number (oh thank god, it wasn't his mum, he was afraid it was his _mum_). He wasn't sure _why _Veser was calling him, and odds are it wouldn't be a good reason, but it didn't really matter right now. What mattered was that he needed to get Veser out of the apartment as soon as possible, and his timing had been impeccable.

Conrad stumbled with the phone for a bit, trying to get the keys to move with his cold fingers. He ground his teeth furiously, finally warming his palms with friction and moving the answer key with relief. "Veser?" He tried to keep his tone at its usual pitch, rubbing his throat lightly. "I-Is something wrong?"

"_Yeah,_ Conrad? Quick question." Conrad narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?" There it was, that tone that was normal and angry. It came so naturally when it was _Veser_. Veser or Hanna. They were just so irritating, he couldn't help himself.

"Wha- Nothing! Fuck, why is that the first thing you think?" Conrad rolled his eyes, quickly shooting a glance up at the hunter that stood above. He pulled away quickly to mutter his apologies but this _was the kid _before pulling it back to his ear and catching something along the lines of "-'sides, I cleaned up the water last time." He gave a groan. "What, then?" The artist's voice was slightly strained, tense. Of course Veser would never notice.

"Where are the goldfish?"

…Seriously?

_Seriously?_

"What? Wh- You- Is that it? You had to call me?" Conrad would have been infuriated had it not been so perfect that he called him _now_, of all times. Thank god. "Look, whatever. Veser, you need to get out of the apartment. I have some important people coming, and I'd really rather not have to deal with them _and _you. Is that clear?"

"What? But, dude, you can't just kick me out! I ne-"

"Quit your whining and go to Ples's place or something. God knows you like it more there anyways."

"…Good point."

"Yeah, so just take your things and leave, I'm begging you."

"But- The goldfish-"

"Upper left side of the pantry behind the Oaties box, take them with you if you want!" Conrad blew on his finger and hung up quickly, casting frightened looks up at his captor (how long was too long on the phone? Was he going to die now? Did he even have a chance?).

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but he's leaving, and the place'll be empty soon, I'm _sorry_." He swallowed madly, gripping the phone to his chest like a life source. If any creature ever terrified him, it was this man in front of him. Nothing else had ever seemed so nerve-wracking and sickening to the gut. Did he ever have a choice in his fate at this point?

Well, he was doing this, wasn't he? It was keeping him alive a little longer.

One could only hope.


	4. Names

A/N: Jump back a couple minutes, before the phone call last chapter. This is Abner's point of view from that bit. Progress is being made.

God, I hate allergies. I'm a mess.

**|.|.|.|.|**

The Vampire nodded furiously. Abner was again surprised at the utter lack of _hesitance_. He could ask the Mr. Achenleck to build a ladder to the moon he would likely sprint to the Home Depot that very second. He decided to slide his finger away from the trigger and just hold the shot gun. He highly doubted there would be any use for the weapon at this point. He was just far too agreeable.

But then… Ah. Something seemed to have sunken in through the man's head as at last, there seemed to be an expression of second guessing. Abner wondered if he was finally gathering the nerve to fight or…

"I- There's this kid at my apartment. He- He's been needing a place. I-"

A kid? His eyebrow raised in further curiosity. This was getting _very _interesting.

"I need to make a phone call. Just-"

Abner nearly jumped at the sudden blast of music, and secretly was thankful that he had taken his fingers off the trigger just seconds before, because god knows not to spook him while his finger was on a trigger. Abner nearly gaped at the **iPhone **the vampire suddenly pulled out.

What?

_What_?

How can… Did Mr. Achenleck completely forget he was a vampire? Why did he still have his phone? He remembered what he said earlier about a kid being in his _apartment_. Surely, surely he wasn't still clinging onto his human lifestyle? Was he still listed as a living breathing human? Did he still pay taxes, pay bills and remain a functioning member of _human_society? Did this man work a night shift or from home- where was he getting his money?

Didn't he know living as he did now made it so, so much easier for people like _him_ to find him and kill him? Sure, he hadn't yet, but only because he was focusing on the more dangerous creatures of the night. But had he or another hunter decided to turn their attention to a mysterious snaggletoothed man wandering the streets at night, he wouldn't last a day. No, an _hour _at best.

Just… Jesus _CHRIST_, not even he, a human, dared risk owning a traceable phone! It was stupidly reckless!

Abner tuned in onto the conversation, learning that the vampire shared his apartment with a boy named Veser. There was a small argument, as Conrad ordered the boy to stay with a person named Ples. He wrote these names to memory, wondering if Conrad had any sort of idea of how much sensitive information about his life he was throwing around carelessly, like it was popcorn or something.

This man… Abner was at a loss of how he was even still _alive_.

Or as alive a dead man can get.

When he hung up, Abner sighed at the string of apologies, still staring at the phone. Just… goddamit. He couldn't turn into a bat properly, he obviously couldn't fight, he couldn't defend himself, he couldn't… And he was taking care of some _kid_? By the sounds of it, the kid wasn't a vampire. If he was, why would there be _any_ human food in the pantry? He was taking care of a _non-vampire_.

Which in itself was incredibly out of the ring of what was considered normal for vampires.

Abner got to his feet, nodding to the mentioning of _Veser_ leaving the apartment. "In that case will you please get up and follow me to my car?" he asked. Though, asking was just a formality. He didn't have to ask, he could force this trembling creature to do whatever he wanted, but that would be barbaric. No need to force the willing.

At the sight of the hunter getting to his feet, Conrad felt another surge of relief flow through him, from somewhere in his gut (which was still painfully twisting from the hollowness). The grip on the phone loosened as it was nearly forgotten, his hands sliding down onto his lap. He didn't realize the confusion he stirred from the man; he was a bit busy worrying about his own skin at the moment.

A question was asked, and it took Conrad a moment to process.

He… he had a car? Conrad knew that, of course; after all, the man had rammed it into Lamont's. But to have it fixed so quickly… Being a vampire hunter must have actually paid pretty well. Conrad cringed inwardly at the thought of just how many "pests" the hunter had taken down.

But the vampire shoved that thought away and rose gratefully, eyes locked on the gun that was pushed away hastily. Now that the apartment was empty, all he really had to worry about was his own hide. Oh, and the sharp pain in his gut. That too.

Suddenly a thought hit the hunter. This wasn't his first stakeout, naturally. He had an emergency duffle bag in the trunk for just so an occasion. But he hated to leave his home inhabited for lengthy periods of time. If he was gone for too long, a layer of dust would surely build over all the surfaces! And the plants- they would die of thirst. And he couldn't, wouldn't risk leaving Conrad a chance to flee as he made trips back to check on everything…

This option, his only option wasn't a foreign one. He'd done it before. But he hated it. He hated her. But his niece, his tactless niece was the only one he could trust to house-sit for him. She was just as obsessive over organization and cleanliness as he was, but dear god was she ever a bitch.

He looked down at Conrad and set the shot-gun onto his back holster. "And if you don't mind, this _is_ a bit short notice for me as well. Give me your phone, I'll need to make certain arrangements." He said this in a bit more of a demanding tone. He wasn't asking. Mostly because he _really_just wanted to get this out of the way. As quickly as possible.

He was still holding the phone when the gun-wielder (he _still _didn't know his name) spoke again.

Conrad nearly gaped for a moment. "Wha- Why _my _phone? You don't have your own?" But the tone was rather clear, and, eyes narrowing, Conrad wiped the screen on his shirt and handed it over reluctantly. He muttered a few dark things under his breath, none of which were really directed at anything, but still giving him a small slight sense of satisfaction.

"Careful with the damned thing, I need to get a new one anyway. If it's not in a good enough condition I can't return it and get my money back." The artist felt a bit idiotic, saying it. Who was he to tell a gun carrying assailant what to do?

Yet the whole phone ordeal had left Conrad rather bitter anyway. He _liked_ the iPhone, it was simple enough to use. Ever since he'd been Changed, though, he hadn't been able to use it as well as he used to, and it _bothered _him.

Sometimes he really wished he could take it all back, make it so he'd never asked Hanna Cross to deal with the damned vampire in his apartment. Had he had _this_ man's card, he would have called him first for sure. Because now everything just seemed so _off_. He _felt_ human, for the most part, he really did. But all those little factors that knocked him down kept reminding him just _what_ he was. Just how _unnatural_he was.

He hated it. Hated how he had to survive on blood, hated where he had to go to _get_ blood. Hated that at this point he was on speaking terms with a werewolf, a half-selkie, a zombie, and a few other vampires. Hated how sunlight burned, how his fang stuck out, hated it _all_. It made him so _angry_.

And he couldn't _act_ on his anger because he didn't want to be a threat, he didn't _want_ to hurt anyone. He just wanted… he didn't _know_ what he wanted. Just not _this_. Not what he was.

He missed normalcy. He missed having that natural feeling of fitting in one's skin, a feeling he had only just gotten recently before he died.

But now…

He could never be normal again.

'_No, no I don't Mr. Achenleck. Unlike you I'm actually aware that this sort of lifestyle requires some sacrifices', _were the words the snapped up in his mind as he took the phone. The goggles hid the twitch in his eye as Conrad then decided to complain about the cost of the phone.

Really? _Really _Mr. Achenleck?

He wanted to raise his arms in frustration and _demand_ to know just how he was even still able to exist. He was literally being taken hostage by a vampire hunter- and the _one_thing he chose to complain about was this stupid phone?

But he kept his composure and examined the black thing over- only to realize that this… this was one of those _touch screen_ phones. He'd be required to remove his gloves and _touch_ the damned thing with his bare hands. He'd have to _touch_ a personal item of a dead man. And true it did look shiny and devoid of filth. But that didn't make it any less… _disgusting._

Grunting in visible disgust, he pulled the vampire by his collar and pushed him to walk ahead of him while he tried to come to terms with his current dilemma. He wiped it down again with a hand cloth he kept within his coat pocket, and removed his right glove. Wincing slightly, he dialed the number with of course adding a (*) in the start of it so it'd only show up as UNKNOWN on his niece's phone. He rubbed his bare hand against his pants leg as he held the phone a slight distance away from his face so he again, wouldn't have to make any more skin contact then he needed too.

Conrad tried not to stare as the man very disgruntling took his phone, tried not to protest as he was grabbed by the collar and shoved forward, where he couldn't actually _see_his captor. It unnerved him, not being able to see what was going on. He very faintly heard the tug of fabric, but continued walking, frowning darkly at the pavement.

The phone made slight beeping sounds as its keys were pressed, but Conrad tried not to listen in. It was rather hard not to eavesdrop, however, when the phone was answered on the other line. Vampire senses did that to you.

The phone rang three times before she answered.

"Mmmph… Wha- who _is this!_" The voice of a tired and angry girl was faintly heard, but the artist heard it as clearly as though he were standing beside the speaker. He winced, trying desperately to turn his attention elsewhere; he of all people understood how important privacy was.

The hunter spoke in a low tone, yet again, Conrad heard it clearly. He couldn't help it; he had nothing else to focus on, to draw his attention away. It was nearly impossible.

Oh right. Of course she'd be asleep at this hour…

"Jenifer, I ne-" he started talking to her, using the coded language he had talked over with her in order to protect both of their identities in case of eavesdroppers. She wasn't fond of the system then, and she wasn't fond of it now, while it was two in the morning.

"Jeni- oh. Oh Fuck NO."

He was quickly interrupted, and Conrad resisted a smirk as the girl cursed at the hunter.

She wasn't fond of it at _all._

"You realize it's **2:00am **old man? I have class tomorrow! What the hell wer-"

"I need you to take th-"

"To HOUSE SIT for you again! Do you understand how much of a hassle it is to move my things there?"

"Jenifer..." Abner's voice was sharp, and warning. But a terrifying tone of voice was completely ineffectual against the half awake spoiled brat.

At this point, Conrad was resisting the urge to laugh. But that tone, that _tone_, caused him to silence and swallow. That tone was really rather terrifying.

"No! Stop, no more codes UNCLE. That's not even a GOOD code name! God damn it- you realize this is why no one takes you seriously? While WE'RE off making a name for ourselves, you're off playing Indiana Jones!" Conrad resisted the urge to wince from the tone, from the words themselves. Gah, it sounded so much like his mother when he went into the drawing career. It was never a pleasant tone, when directed at _anyone_.

But enough about that. Conrad had heard a key word there. _Uncle. _The man had family? For some reason, Conrad couldn't see it. Though, at this point, he would have guiltily admitted to eavesdropping. It was shameful, but he may actually gain something. Something that may keep him alive.

Abner twitched again. This phone call was supposed to be short. "Just listen to me, something came up and I need you to-"

"I'm not doing that!" she interrupted, "…Where are you calling from anyways! Why are you even using codes anyways? You always kill your hostages in the end so it never matters!"

Abner wondered if Conrad could hear what she was saying. Vampires were supposed to have good hearing, but they were also supposed to be good at a number of other things that he clearly wasn't. That aside, he fell back on the guilt strategy to convince Tamie.

Conrad clearly winced at this, sharp and obvious, yet he was unsure if the man had noticed. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other, swallowing silently and gripping his shoulders nervously.

He didn't _want_ to die. He knew it was inevitable, but to actually hear it from someone else's mouth that he _could _die in this situation gave him another sharp pain in his stomach, along with the ache that was already there.

"You know what, you're right. I'll just go home, and let this vampire go free. People's lives may be in grave danger but as long as it makes you happy…" For some reason, hearing this did not help Conrad relax. At all.

Tamie made an audible sound of frustration- a sound signifying she was giving up. She was surprisingly easy to manipulate. "I hate you Uncle Abner. I hate you _so much…_" There was silence on her side of the conversation before she spoke again. "Fine." Conrad tensed. "A-" he froze for a moment. A name? He actually had a _name_ for his captor? This was… wow.

Not that Abner was a bad name. It was really rather nice. Unaverage. But not bad at all.

Abner fiddled with the thing as he deleted the call from the phone's history, not thinking much of what just happened as the approach the little dark blue compact car until he re-placed his glove on his hand. She had used… She used his real name.

Okay, surely, surely Conrad didn't pick up on that. Or he was too scared out of his mind to even pay attention.

He paused went over Conrad's persona in his mind once over. Aside from name calling, he realized that the vampire wouldn't know the first thing about how to use his name against him. He couldn't go to the police and didn't seem to have enough nerve to threaten his family.

He turned off the entire phone and slipped it into his coat pocket as he unlocked the door.

As they approached the car, Conrad heard "Abner" hang up, and he turned to retrieve his phone, only to watch it be turned off, the black screen darkening in a rather forlorn way, before disappearing into the hunter's pocket. "Hey-"

"You'll be getting this back after I lay some ground rules with you," he said. It was better safe than sorry right?

Conrad frowned. Well that was a bit rude! A little warning would have been nice! "What _rules?_" His tone was bitter, much like that of the girl's on the phone had been. "I have absolutely _nothing _to gain from fighting you!" He turned away from the man in annoyance, down to the car.

He blinked, studying it, studying the insides. It was _immaculate_. Just from the outside, he could see the clean and neat perfection that was the interior of the car. It was beautiful, from an artist's point of view. He was almost afraid to touch it.

It was so perfect. Conrad studied the hood, arms clasped behind his back. He could almost see his reflection (if he had one).

Was this really the car that had all but destroyed Lamont's? It was hard to believe.

Abner wondered if the phone had some kind of _sentimental _value to the vampire- he clearly seemed to value it over his own life. "I try to make it a habit to not trust my hostages," he said dryly. He opened the driver's door and looked back up Conrad, wondering what was taking him so long to open up his door. Was he hesitating? Was he afraid of entering a hunter's car- that would be reasonable. That would be expected.

But no.

He seemed to be… _admiring _the car.

Abner pressed two fingers up to his temple and sighed. This man… this undead man was just… Where should he even begin?

"Mr. Achenleck… Just get in the car." Abner's voice wasn't as so much as intimidating as it was just tired sounding. Like he was scolding a child. He was used to struggling, angry vampires that fought, to cowardly, begging vampires that ran for their life… Conrad was neither of those things. He belonged to no clan, his sire borderline abandoned him, and he hung out with _humans_. True, this would make things easier for him, but it was still a bit strange to get used to.

He waited for Conrad to get in before entering the car himself. Paradox jumped off his shoulder and nestled himself in the back seat. "Where do you live Mr. Achenleck?" he asked. He gave up on assuming where the vampire would live – should live. He wouldn't be surprised if he lived in a condo with huge windows, and surrounded by _people_.


	5. Rage

A/N: THIS. THIS is a HUGE chapter, one of the most important and emotional of the entire story. Please take note. All credit goes to Doma on this boy, it's a real tearjerker what she did with our Cas.

**|.|.|.|.|**

As his friend changed, Finas released his hold, allowing Casimiro to take the lead. He gave the small bat his space, silent for the rest of their flight. Yet as he followed, he thought. He thought long and hard about the night's occurrences, and what might be yet to come. Casimiro- he was losing control far too quickly. Though the Englishman would never say it, it was worrisome on several levels.

He agreed with Casimiro on many things, of course he did. But this, this could never be one of them. To see his best friend lose all sense of control over a single factor, it was downright excruciating to watch. To watch him suffer, to watch him hide behind the damned confidence that Finas knew was on one level real, but then it was just a shell of what he really was; all of it was painful. Because he couldn't help him. He couldn't help him let go of this rage and hatred and pain because Casimiro _wouldn't let him._

He didn't want this. He never had.

The bat pulled away from him, farther, faster, and Finas increased his pace slightly as to not lose him. His eyes locked onto his friend's back, watching the muscles pull and stretch with each flap, with more strenuous force than necessary. To say he was worried was putting it mildly.

That man, that _man _in that form in front of him… he could be losing his sanity. And Finas might never know. Or, he would know, but he could never save him. Cas was too stubborn to let him in, too strong minded and chaotic to see what he was trying to really do. Cas thought he was too mild, but he wasn't. He could harm a person if he wanted. He would take any person's life if it meant making Cas feel better.

But taking the life of someone when they had nothing to gain… was pointless. And Finas would never harm an innocent life as long as he could help it. He couldn't see the release that it gave others, letting out rage on another life. He just _couldn't see it_. It wasn't his nature. He couldn't watch it, he couldn't understand or perceive it. To him, it _wasn't right_.

Casimiro began his descent, and Finas followed patiently, feeling the tug of the change as fingers grew longer and digits grew out, limbs formed and fur dissipated. His landing was light, almost silent, and he waited for Casimiro to stop rubbing his eye, almost feeling as though he'd caught him red-handed. He waited for him to relax, waited for him to release. He waited and studied.

Casimiro was tall and dark skinned. A natural born Italian. His hair was tanned from human years. His eyes were different. They had been for a long time. They always would be. Casimiro was a confident man, full of energy and emotion, such emotional that he let himself get away with, whether it was excitement or fury or just a playful swagger that was just so _him_it could fill a person with interest.

Cas was his brother. They were so very close. They _knew_each other.

But he was pulling away.

The Italian straightened, and Finas paused, waiting patiently for him to speak. The man was going to vent, he always did. Finas let him.

He spoke Italian first, and Finas raised an eyebrow, his only show of emotion. The language made no sense to him. It was so alien to him, so foreign and unnatural. He couldn't respond to it.

He waited for the English to finally break through the barrier. And it did.

"Your lack of support is irritating me Finas."

Finas bit his tongue, trying not to cut it. He thought for a response, carefully, trying not to be insulting. When he finally spoke, his words were strung together neatly and with subtle message. A puzzle.

Finas seemed tense. To anyone else, he may seem his usual stoic self, but Casimiro after years knowing that man was able to see that the slightest twitch of his shoulders, the slightest change of the eyebrows or jaw was just as good as a man sneering or groaning.

Casimiro thought this was good at first.

He couldn't hurt Finas, not physically. He was his brother, his only family. He was a constant. He'd lash out at him, he had an excuse didn't he?

Casimiro was about to say something else, something along the lines of going home and starting over tomorrow. The sun will be up in a few hours. Maybe they could…

"I support your cause, Cas. But I can't support your methods."

His face was clear of emotion, as was his voice. He was trying very hard to keep it that way, to keep from letting Cas see the strain, the worry, and fear. He couldn't let him see.

He didn't know how much more he could take of this.

He didn't know how much more he could take before he had to leave. To retract completely.

It was all _too much._

Cas wasn't expecting a response outside of something commenting on how he should calm down. How he should not let his emotions get to him. This seemed more cryptic than usual.

He stilled, seeming for a moment completely confused by the words. Like they were spoken in Japanese or German. "You…. Support my cause…" he repeated, as though maybe saying the same words with his own tongue would make it any less confusing. "But not my methods."

No, he said can't. Not just that he didn't support them, but that he _can't_.

Casimiro as of this moment was not even considering the possibility of Finas leaving him. That was like considering the possibility of fish learning to fly or the stars losing their grip on the sky and falling down to Earth.

Finas was silent for what felt like the longest time as Cas hesitantly repeated his words. He didn't respond, didn't breath or twitch; he was completely still, wondering if his friend could piece it together himself.

He could not take this. This damned waiting. He knew Casimiro was growing impatient, but it seemed that he too was tired of chasing down a goose that refused to be caught. He was sick of it, sick of running and moving, sick of not being able to settle down long enough to focus on something _he_wanted for once.

Finas was not a selfish man. He was no martyr, but he would freely give up his choices for someone he cared for. This didn't mean he was someone to be taken advantage of, and most people with any sense understood that. But if he felt he didn't need something, he wouldn't take it. It was like being in a lunch line and there was only one last cup of pudding and he wanted it, but someone else was grabbing for it. He always got the pudding first, but seeing the other hand, the other face, he would hand the small cup away easily, nevermind his cravings.

But there were times when he hadn't eaten all day and that would be his only lunch and- now he was getting far too literal with the analogy.

Finas closed his eyes and opened them again in that long pause, looking away from his companion. He wanted something- _needed _it. Needed it desperately. It was a moral situation.

He wanted out.

He _needed _out.

That realization shocked him momentarily, but he let the entire thought sink in. He was done with this. This moving, this doing whatever Cas wanted because he cared so much…why hadn't he seen that it was affecting him negatively?

No, Finas meant something else by those words and eventually it clicked. "Is this you trying to take over the reins Finny?" he laughed with his hands on his hips. "Come now, it's not like I've sewn your mouth shut- you have a suggestion outside of _moving on _or waiting for another decade then speak up! Is this about the kid? He shouldn't matter- he wasn't useful in the least and he should be dead right about now, where I intervened or not."

It struck Finas then that this couldn't work. Not that it couldn't, but that it hadn't. The relationship had been fraying at the edges. For years Finas had known that this could never end well, that he had never wanted it, but he always gave into what Cas wanted because he had no need except to protect him.

But to know that he couldn't withstand it at all anymore… well, that changed things.

"No, Casimiro." He spoke the whole name dryly. "This is not about the fledgling." Withdraw from the informal jargon, make everything formal and cold, and hopefully, it will not hurt as much.

Casimiro for the first time for what it seemed like a very long time was stricken silent. It wasn't about the fledging… But what else could _possibly_be troubling Finas? He stared at his friend with a curious expression, oblivious to the upcoming bombshell.

"I can only tell you what I think. You have already heard it, but I must restate myself, as much as you don't want to hear it." Finas returned his gaze to meet Casimiro's, red eyes meeting mismatched ones. "This cannot continue—revenge and destruction gain nothing."

Did the Italian understand? Did he know that Finas couldn't take this anymore, that he could not watch his friend become more and more irritated with each failure?

Everything that affected one man, affected the other. And Finas could not take much more of it.

"I am forced to repeat myself. I support your cause. I cannot support your methods." Finas nearly broke that moment. He understood why Casimiro was like this, he understood that it caused him pain, that he was so angry.

Casimiro's eyes narrowed, already wanting to interrupt his friend and argue. Finas should know well enough by now that he didn't have the slightest interest of _giving up_. Not now especially, since Adelaide was rumored to be in the same city- a closer lead then he had in many, _many_ years. To give up _now_ would be insane- _stupid_ and _insane_.

Remain taut, remain empty and emotionless.

"It is at this time that, I regret to say, this cannot continue." Look away. "Not for me, anyway." No, no, refrain from speaking on a friendly basis.

Cas's mouth that had cracked open to release sharp words, hopefully sharp enough to cut off the conversation and what he previously assumed to be the same song and dance they have had for the past few centuries , remained open, frozen in a gaping expression. His words, those sharp words were lost. _He_ was at a loss. What… _what was happening now?_

The stars were falling.

They'd lost their grasp.

"F-Finas…!" The Italian stammered out- surely this was a joke! A _cruel joke_ or a simple misunderstanding. This wasn't really happening. _This wasn't happening. _

But his friend's voice was cold and final.

"If you will not halt your actions, nor your hunt, I understand. But I cannot continue to partake in them."

Finas nearly winced at his words, almost wished he could take them back from the air.

But they needed to be spoken, they needed to be heard. Casimiro needed to understand. He could not take this anymore.

It had never been his fight. He had followed the leader like a good friend, but it had never been his battle, and now he realized he had never wanted to be in it. He was just doing what he did best, letting someone else take the last pudding for him.

No more.

"But I _can't_ stop!" Casimiro blurted out, running his hands through his color stripped hair. What was happening now? "How can yo- please, _please_tell me you're joking? This is a fucking joke, right?" he asked, desperately searching his friend's expression for the slightest hint of a smirk but didn't find one.

He knew he wouldn't, and he knew the answer to the question before he asked it. Not because he had expected this- no, he had everything _but_expected it. Finas was just the type to never joke. He was not the type to pull a prank, especially one as cruel as this.

_What was happening?_

He ran his hand again through his hair, and again, tearing his eyes away from Finas, unable to continue looking at that cold expression. "What… What are you asking… you _know_ right? You know what you are asking of me right!" he said, pacing slightly to the edge of the building. Had he need a constant need for air, he'd be hyperventilating. This wasn't happening, it couldn't, it _shouldn't_.

Had he been human, this wouldn't have been nearly as huge of a deal. Life spans were short, friends came and went as easily as the seasons changed. You could get over anything, you could because life was so short and there were so many things to see. So many things to see before you die, things that could outlast you, things that, if you didn't hurry, could never be experienced unless you rushed to it before your hourglass of life ran out of its last grain of sand. Had Casimiro been human, he would have only gotten upset, upset enough to storm away, and curse his name.

But he wasn't human. He was a vampire, with eons of times on his hands. More time than he could bear to handle. He'd outlasted entire civilizations, and people, people quickly withered and died before his eyes. The world around him was a rushing river, things constantly changing, while he did not. Finas, _Finas_ was his only constant. His only link to what was real. He was positive that without Finas, he would have been driven mad, or fuck, _killed _a very, very long time ago.

He'd taken Finas for granted because he was so sure he wouldn't leave.

Because he'd _never _left.

Because he'd been by his side for so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to be alone. He needed him. He _needed_him.

And now…

What…

**What was happening?**

"Finas… Finas! I refuse to make such a stupid decision- I shouldn't have… Fuck!" He turned on his heel, eyes burning… with tears, yes just tears. His scarrd eye, it never turned on Finas, it wouldn't now, it wouldn't, it wouldn't… "How… **Fuck!**! Finas, I cannot just _give up_ on my revenge! I can't just let that _whore_get away with what she's done to me!"

His anger was building, but his mind was slipping into hysteria to do anything about it.

"She turned me, she turned me on a fucking _whim!_ I had a life, a family-they mattered, I know they mattered… " His fingers that were tangled in his hair were starting to shake. "She laughed and said it never mattered, says that I'd forget in time, but… Finas, I don't _want _to forget!"

Finas knew all of this though, he knew, he _knew _because he'd mentioned it dozens of times in the past hundreds of years. But it was still happening, it couldn't be helped. With time, the sound of his mother's voice was buried, the name of the woman he was to marry, their faces, the moments he shared with them…

They were being forgotten.

Adelaide was winning, because soon he wouldn't even remember why he was chasing her. He'd forget his anger, but he couldn't because she _killed him_. No, no, it wasn't just revenge. This was justice, he needed, he _required _justice.

"You're asking me to choose between _you_ and my self-worth Finas!" he cried out angrily to his _friend_. His hands, thrown out to his sides, curled into fists. His voice was rising, possibly, quite possibly for the first time at Finas. He was yelling at him in anger. In _anger_. His eye continued to burn, sizzling away at his flesh. "You, you may have thrown away your past like it was fucking _garbage_, and decided to live like an hollowed out _shadow_ of a man, but I refuse to do anything like that! I am not hollow, I am not **dead**!" His voice rose past yelling, and well into screaming. Casimiro's good eye was dilated, unable to focus as his sanity was pulled further and further away. He was saying things he would never say, but was saying them now, out of wild anger, and betrayal. The skin continued to peel and burn away, revealing the hideous bones that did not belong to a human body.

Casimiro had lost himself in anger.

The curse now had free range over the Italian's body; it spread like wildfire, crawling down his neck, chest and arms. Casimiro's rage, yes, _rage_at Finas, had made Finas a target. Finas was a target. And Casimiro did something he swore to himself he'd never allow, something where he would declare he'd sooner drink blessed water than to do what he was doing right now.

His inhuman face released a demonic scream, a scream that could not come from a human voice box, as he lunged for Finas. He lunged for him, with his claws aimed for his chest. He was attacking Finas.


	6. Regret

A/N: Mmmgh. Chapter 6. Again, step back about two minutes or something, we open with Finas's viewpoint. This is an extremely heartbreaking scene, I will just say right now. I would love if people would review about their reactions and such, I want to know that people are actually READING this.

As a sidenote, I don't know if I'm going to update next week. I have the chapters, we can still keep this up, but I'm going to my mother's. I don't know how long or anything. She has a computer, so odds are in my favor, but I'm still unsure. Just a heads up.

Also, this chapter references to a comic by emif on deviantArt, I suggest you look it up. We make a lot of references actually, like Veser and the goldfish and Cas's losing control. Please, do try to find the pictures we get our inspiration from.

**|.|.|.|.|**

Things were not turning out as well as Finas could have hoped.

He knew that Casimiro would be unhappy with his decision, and he knew that the Italian was highly emotional, and on the rare occasion, dramatic. He had expected the anger focused towards him. He had expected disbelief.

But he had never expected the desperate tone his friend had taken on.

"But I _can't_ stop! How can yo- please, _please _tell me you're joking? This is a fucking joke, right?"

The Italian was running his fingers through his hair, his expression pained. It was all the Englishman could do to keep a straight face as he began to pace, looking away from him.

"What… What are you asking… you _know _right? You know what you are asking of me right!"

Yes, _yes_, Finas knew exactly what he was asking! He knew that it would seem impossible for the Italian to stop, but if this relationship, this dysfunctional, tight, brotherly bond meant anything to him, he would do what he felt was right. Finas had that much faith in the man.

And if he couldn't stop, then Finas would leave, and he would try to make it as painless as possible. He didn't _want_to hurt his friend, he didn't want to put him in a position where he would suffer either way. But there was no other way out. Finas would not put up with this anymore, not when it made him watch his best friend change into some sort of monster.

"Finas… Finas! I refuse to make such a stupid decision- I shouldn't have… Fuck! How… Fuck! Finas, I cannot just _give up _on my revenge! I can't just let that whore get away with what she's done to me!"

To his utter surprise, Finas saw tears beginning to falling from Casimiro's eyes, _both _eyes. He was causing Cas emotional pain.

He nearly broke in his resolve then, but his stubborn will—something he'd had for centuries and had unfortunately helped to breed in his partner—kept him from taking back his words, from saying _yes Cas, I was joking, everything will be alright, listen to me_. His exhaustion told him he couldn't lie to his friend, he couldn't do this anymore.

Then came the anger he had been expecting.

"She turned me, she turned me on a fucking _whim!_ I had a life, a family-they mattered, I know they mattered… She laughed and said it never mattered, says that I'd forget in time, but… Finas, I don't _want_to forget!" Finas could see him shaking, shaking madly, trying to relax. He could see the strain. He wished to grab his friend and help him. How the hell could he when he was the cause of the strain?

Finas felt more than a little guilty, of course. The man in front of him as falling apart, and all he had to really do to fix it was deny what he wanted. But he was too selfish for that. Finas, selfish! Such a thing was unheard of, yet here was clear proof that it happened.

"You're asking me to choose between you and my self-worth Finas! You, you may have thrown away your past like it was fucking _garbage_, and decided to live like an hollowed out _shadow_of a man, but I refuse to do anything like that! I am not hollow, I am not dead!"

Finas physically winced, not from the words, but from the tone directed at him. Cas was furious. The broken man Finas had seen only moments ago was gone, and some terrifying monster was taking its place. Finas hated that monster, hated what it did to the man he trusted.

Even now he could see to fire spreading from the Italian's eye, spreading quickly. The human voice was turning into guttural screaming as bleach white bone was revealed.

Even now Finas held his ground, holding still. He _trusted _Cas. Even angry as he was, he would find control, they wouldn't get each other hurt. They'd been together too long to let that happen. They looked out for each other. Surely Cas wouldn't—

An inhuman scream filled the air, and Finas barely comprehended as he was thrown back. Sharp, ragged claws tore their way into his chest, and Finas let out an audible gasp. Instinct kicked in, and he kicked his feet forward, propelling himself away from the enemy, claws being torn out of his cavity.

When Finas landed on the other side of the roof, it was not with the agility that which with he usually landed. It was jolty and pathetic. It was the landing of someone that was totally unaware of the circumstances.

The bleached white jagged claw tore back, now stained with blood, blood of which its excess splattered back behind the demon as the claw rose into the air, knees bent as though he were about to go in and finish the job.

But it didn't.

It hesitated, it hesitated, looking confused as to _why_ it was hesitating. The climax of the moment, of the anger the vampire that had just previously lost control of was over. It was like he was falling from that climax, crashing back into the unsettling reality that he had just created for himself. His skin, his human skin returned, and at first Casimiro seemed to have his bewildered lost expression, like he couldn't understand what was happening. Like he just walked onto the roof just seconds prior and this scene that could _never _have been his fault was already here.

He looked, dazed across the gravel to the crumbled up body up on the far side. That person that was still somehow alive despite that gash in his chest… That person that shouldn't, couldn't be, but _was _Finas.

Finas.

Finas.

_Finas._

The Italian was stricken with shock, trying to piece together what had happened. They were talking, then Finas… Then _he…_. No, no, that… No he didn't do this, he couldn't have, even though the memory of it burned so brightly, it wasn't real, he couldn't have-

There was a chill on his hand.

Shaking he looked down at it, seeing his hand was coated in fresh blood.

_Fresh blood_, that belonged to Finas, for that scent could not belong to any other.

Finas was vaguely aware that his legs were not underneath him; rather, they were folded in front of him. Almost as though he were sitting. But he didn't… remember moving….

His chest felt odd. He placed a hand to the area, only to feel something wet. He pulled his hand back.

Stared at it.

In this poor light, he could only see the black liquid that covered his palm. But the smell was unmistakable.

He blinked.

Looked at it.

Blinked again.

It was still there.

Eyes drawn to the dark stuff that stank of death, Finas forced himself to swallow.

"C-Cas?" To his embarrassment, his voice shook. But it couldn't be helped, even if he didn't know why.

Casimiro's horrified eyes drifted over back at Finas. He tripped over his own words, he was injured and he… no…_no..._"I c-couldn't…" he breathed out those words with no will to finish it.

"What just…?"

The edge of his vision began to fade.

Oh. Oh god.

Why wasn't he finishing that sentence?

"Finas!" He broke out of his shock and faster then he could think, he was by his old comrade's side. He was rarely one to react with fear, normally _he _was the fearless one. But there it was, that foreign ball of terror nestled in the pit of his stomach, cracking open like an egg.

"Oh dios mio… It's going to be okay Finny, I swear, it's going to be alright…" his voice shook with that fear that was clawing in his insides, tearing him apart like he had swallowed glass. His hands hovered over his friend's body, freezing inches away from him like he just _couldn't _physically touch him.

Like he _shouldn't _touch him.

His eyes drew back down at his chest, and he felt that horror tear about even more in his chest. No, it wasn't complete horror… no. He kept calling it that because this was the closest feeling to that. Guilt was a foreign feeling that he'd rarely felt, rarely enough as it seemed that he was having a difficult time knowing what to call that sinking, scraping void inside his chest.

He stared at the gash wound, that ruined shirt and coat now stained with black blood. He stared at it and became aware of the chill of his still damp hand…. He did this, _he_.

He did this.

He did this in anger.

"Y-You…" Finas was telling him… telling him that he was going to leave him. And instead of listening, he just made it so Finas would never reconsider.

He was never going to reconsider.

"No, no, riesco risolvere il problem…" He could, he can, he can _fix _this! He couldn't, wouldn't leave it like this. He couldn't, couldn't, couldn't…

He forced his hands to move again, nevermind that stinging guilt that was killing him slowly, _eating_him slowly, bit by bit, flake by flake of flesh. His wrapped his arms around Finas and picked him up, held him close and felt that ghost of a memory.

This wasn't the first, where he had to carry Finas home.

But that was long ago, and it was truly a mistake. He didn't know he was being left behind, he didn't know until it was too late that Finas would be trapped under a bush brow, hiding from the sun. That was long ago, and truly no one could be at blame for that.

This, _this _was however his fault.

_He _lost his temper at Finas.

_He_ used his _curse _against Finas.

It was intentional, no matter how much regret was tacked onto it, it was fucking _intentional._

But that can't… It wouldn't matter would it?

The weight in his arm screamed _yes_, but he did his best to ignore it.

He had to.

He couldn't bear it if it did.

The apartment they were currently housed in was just a few buildings over. Obviously not being able to just fly there, he took the fire escape down, doing well as to not agitate the wound, but at the same time being quick about it.

He wasn't heavy- or maybe he was, and he just couldn't notice it, not with his inhuman body. But he found himself thankful for the empty streets, the same streets he was cursing earlier for the same reason. No one was looking, no one was staring, no questions, no distractions, no explanations or problems. It was just himself, and Finas, who didn't seem very lucid at all; which pushed the man into a sprint.

What did he do?

_What did he do?_

He was feeling frantic again, losing nerve. That weight that wasn't supposed to be heavy was becoming so. He did this. But he could fix it, he would and Finas would scold him and maybe not even talk to him for days, but… It wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't. It wouldn't.

_It wouldn't_.

He hugged the body subconsciously closer to himself, muttering a flimsy string of apologies that may or may not have been all in English. He didn't even know anymore, as he felt as though he was moving on auto. At the arrival of the apartment building, he tapped up the flight of stairs, feeling that franticness rise as he was no longer in the safety of the shadows, but instead now in full view of the yellow lights that hung above the outdoor walk ways. But there it was, room number 37, like a prize at the end of a journey. He entered the small apartment and kicked the door closed. The apartment still stunk of the human that once lived here, though she'd been dead and drained for quite some time. A silly college woman that wouldn't be noticed missing for at least three days.

He entered the bedroom and propped Finas up on the bed, carefully peeling off the damp coat and shirt, not needing the light- not _wanting _the light to see. He could see enough, he didn't want the light detailing it all with the unnecessary shades of blood and the purplish hues of bruising that was sure to be there.

He didn't need that.

He could see enough.

"Fuck, Fuck, _Fuck!"_

He could see enough.

More than enough.

He had to leave his side for a moment, mumbling still a string of babbling apologies, lightly seasoned with profanities.

He wasn't even sure if he was even speaking Italian _or _English anymore.

He came back, and cleaned the wound with a damp cloth, trying to reassure himself that it just _wasn't that bad_, but it _was_, it was worse, if only by the fact that _he was the one that DID this_.

It struck him that he could never fix that.

He could never fix that fact that _he _attacked Finas.

"Gesù Cristo cazzo, Finas…" What could he say, what could he possibly fucking say to fix _that? _His friend could crumble into ash at any moment and it would be because he couldn't accept what Finas was saying.

He was being too reckless.

"…"

He was silent for the duration it took to bandage Finas's chest. He bandaged it, and when he was finished, he was silent for a little more.

_"This cannot continue—revenge and destruction gain nothing."_

He sat by Finas's side, but now not having to, he no longer was looking at him. His stare was focused more on the floor, as he wiped his hands with the damp cloth. He was still, with a blank expression. "You wanted to leave… before this happened didn't you?" he muttered. "You knew that I'd… I'd _fuck _up. I fucked up."

His eye was aching, causing him to slap his hand over his eye, digging his nails into his skin. No, no, he wasn't turning. It was that familiar ache, but…

He ignored it when it mattered most.

He fueled it.

"You… wanted me to stop before this happened…" He kept talking, not knowing or caring if Finas was lucid or conscious enough to even hear it. "…But now that it has…"

He couldn't stop.

Because now there was literally nothing left here for him.

He couldn't fix this.

"I can't stop."

He didn't deserve for it to be fixed.

"But I won't burden you any longer Finny."

He got up, and placed a blood packet- a _left-over_ from their _host _on the nightstand, before turning to leave.

He was leaving.

And there wasn't any turning back.

And the walk to the front door seemed ordinary, and easy at first, until came time to turn the door knob to open it.

But his hand refused to obey him at the last possible minute. It froze. It was frozen on that knob and it was refusing to let him leave.

Frozen.

He knew. He knew once he left this room there was never coming back, but what choice did he have? He couldn't stay. He lost that right. He did not have the luxury of choice, because he damned himself to this…

_To this…_

But even so, his hand was frozen. It wouldn't budge, it wouldn't turn the knob. What happens now?

Once that door would open and close with _him _on the other side, it would never open again. Nothing he could say or do beyond this point would change that. He could never take back those words, nor could he ever take back those actions.

"It's for the best…" he said, almost snapping at himself. He couldn't be a burden to Finas any longer. He couldn't risk a next time. Because there would be a next time, if he allowed it. "…It's for the best isn't it?" A whisper now, unsure of who he was asking.

Not Finas obviously, he'd been rendered fucking _unconscious _in the other room thanks to him so carelessly losing his...

His...

...

Humanity?

One half of him was a vampire and the other this demon from the depths of hell.

There was no humanity left.

"I'm the hollow one aren't I?" he said to himself with a pained smile dancing across his face.

There was nothing left for him.

Not in this apartment.

He regained control of his subconscious and exited the small, dark apartment.

Never looking back.


	7. Mist

A/N: Ha! I didn't miss my deadline! Made it home right on time, lucky me.

So, this bit is one long Finas post, but it's really a short chapter compared to the other ones. It also may be the last one on a deadline. Next week I'll be camping… And the week after that I'll be in Tahoe, and my birthday will be on this Friday! Woot!

After that, updates will be VERY sketchy, as I only have a couple more chapters after this one. But god, this baby will be longs, guys. And I'm hoping it won't end until it's finished, Doma and I have an entire plotline. Stick with us guys.

I think that's it, better put this up before I go apeshit on my computer, which just froze while I was typing this.

**|.|.|.|.|**

Finas couldn't remember his eyes closing, couldn't remember when shapes faded into black and then back into shapes. A haze floated around him, leaving him senseless and numb, save for the gentle throb that occurred whenever he tried to clear his mind.

And to be honest, Finas stopped trying.

"I c-couldn't…"

Hn?

It took Finas far longer than he could have hoped to register the owner of the voice that spoke so shakily, the words that barely made dents along the fog of his mind. He felt surges running through him, of what, he couldn't tell and didn't have the energy to try to recognize.

"Finas!" Again, the gentle numbness that he bathed in was cut through, ever so slightly. In something that might have been irritation but was honestly too weak of a trial to think about, Finas tried to envelop himself in the swath of frayed nerves and silence, tried to push away the distractions.

"…ios mio… It's going to be okay Finny, I swea…" His efforts seemed to be in vain, however. The blanket of calm was cut through again, and he would have grumbled in annoyance had he the desire to respond to the distraction. But as he did not, he stayed silent, and willed the source of irritation to do the same.

Finas continued to fade in and out of the black reality—those were the moments Finas couldn't remember, wouldn't recognize happening, because everything was a constant black in his mind. Such a sweet darkness, bliss and unfeeling and outside of time. And again and again he was pulled away from it as cold appendages touched him and reminded him that he had a body, and it _hurt_, it stung like mad and being in that reality made him want to scream and sink away again.

If he did feel, and he tried desperately not to, it was of pain and cold and nausea. Why would anyone want that world? What else could there be in it?

He was still being touched, and it cut through the haze very lightly and tenderly, making a different impact on his defenses than all had been. The touch was unnerving on a level, made him curious in a fearful sort of way, made him stick his feelers out.

He almost immediately retreated to the haze, because it hurt so much, _why _did it hurt so much?

But if one could push past that, find something to hold onto and push past the agony that was the world, one could find the slightest of comforts.

Someone was holding him closely to a cool body. The hold was protective and he found he didn't mind. But why did it sting some, why did it burn?

He had a body. The hold defined that, made the fuzzy outlines smoother and clearer. And now he found he didn't want the body. He didn't like the stinging that was inside the lines of his body.

Sounds (sounds? what were those?) bounced off his body, sounds that made no sense. What were languages? What were words? What were tone and voice, what was screaming, and crying?

Such strange thoughts fled his mind and the barriers built themselves up again as he was moved, lost that touch. The stinging turned to a fire that burned up the haze like it was a gasoline, setting Finas (he had almost forgotten his name, who he was) on fire, agony touching his core and flicking at him.

"—ck, Fuck, _Fuck!_"

Words. Those were words. Bitter words, painful words, agonizing words.

Finas knew those words.

Finas knew that voice.

_Cas._

_Casimiro._

Fire again, fire that made Finas want to grit his teeth and weep—but where on his body were his teeth again? Fire that was only slightly doused with sad words of shame and panic and profane utterance.

Words that at one point stopped making sense but were still a comfort in the familiarity of their speaker. Words that brought Finas back to sanity from the cloud and fog and _fire_.

He was touched again, right into the core of the fire, and his mind reeled and writhed though his body refused to move for him. He felt sick, electrocuted, almost as though he had drunk a gallon of holy water (and he couldn't remember why he knew it would hurt, but dammit whatever made sense to him!).

"—cazzo, Finas…" The fire continued more and more, but Finas didn't twitch—_couldn't_ twitch. And slowly again it receded, and his walls once again began to come down, touching the world of pain again. Pain and agony and sadness and _Cas_.

He had forgotten what had happened. Forgotten the screams of denial and accusation and the claws in his chest. Forgotten everything.

"—anted to leave… before this happened didn't….knew that I'd… I'd _fuck _up. I fucked up."

Pain, again. But more emotional than anything. Because, if he pulled himself back there to those moments, he'd have been forced to admit Casimiro was right. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. But he'd never imagined things to turn out like they had.

The fire in his chest, he knew what it was now. Claws that had torn into him, flesh that felt enflamed but seemed… tended. Better?

For the first time in his existence, Finas was slow on the uptake. He was sinking again, into the numbness and dark and haze that had returned to float around him. But he didn't want it, he wanted it to go away, no, go away, _go away_. He had to listen, had to focus.

"…wanted me to stop before this happened…"

"…But now that it has…"

"I can't stop."

What? _What?_ No, that wasn't right, Casimiro could always—another flame shot up in his chest and caused him to lose focus. He tried to repress it, tried to ignore it, but it _wouldn't let him_. By the gods, it hurt. It was utterly _horrible_.

But nothing could ever be as horrible as what happened next—

"But I won't burden you any longer Finny."

Abruptly Finas felt the fire flare up stronger than ever, then die inside him. He felt it _die_. Bursts of clarity hit the vampire painfully.

Cas was leaving. He was actually _leaving_. Because he thought he was a burden, some sort of monster. And, true, Casimiro could lose himself in such anger and the damned _curse_—but that wasn't his fault. It never had been. What _had _been his fault was the constant fuel he provided for the burning monstrosity inside of him. He had never been able to let go of the past, of what could have been but never was, and now—what? He was gone.

Finas was always aware if Casimiro was by his side or not; such a bond had grown over the centuries. He had been aware that Casimiro was moving aside, if only faintly, but he had never actually expected what was happening. _He_ was the one that was going to leave. _He_ was the one that had caused this, not Casimiro, Cas couldn't just _le_—

"It's for the best…"

For the best? For the _best?_

"…It's for the best isn't it?" (so quiet now, so quiet)

Fuck, _no_, Cas, it was _not _for the best, they could fix this, they could! Finas had been to blame, he hadn't meant to make Casimiro angry, they could make things right—

But deep down, somewhere next to the fiery wound that was sparking again, trying to gain his attention, Finas knew that it wasn't true. Casimiro had crossed some sort of boundary; they both had. One of them was always going to leave the other tonight, it had just occurred differently than one could have expected. This couldn't work anymore.

It couldn't.

"I'm the hollow one aren't I?"

Finas wanted to scream. The man, so reserved and quiet and brooding, wanted to burst out into angry screams of denial. Casimiro wasn't hollow. God, couldn't he look at himself now? _He wasn't hollow_.

But again, the vampire's body refused to respond to his wishes, save for another sharp stab of pain through his body that shook his core and sent him reeling back into the haze with a final thought.

Casimiro was gone.

The Englishman wouldn't wake for hours on end, until his body had finally touched over the worst of the damage done to him by his _best friend_—he would wake and grab at the bag by his side and swallow it with barely any patience or reserve. He would grip the bag tightly in his clenched fist and let his hands show his emotion for him, as his mind would scream one thought, one painful realization, over and over again.

_Casimiro was gone_.


	8. Home

A/N: God, I hate camping. Hate.

So tomorrow's my birthday. Yay fucking me.

Sorry, I'm not in the happiest of moods.

Taking a break from bromance angst, back to a nearly-forgotten failpire and hunter. Official end of night one as well.

Here's your stinking chapter.

**|.|.|.|.|**

"Mr. Achenleck… Just get in the car."

Conrad looked up, frowning. What the hell was that tone? The hunter just sounded like he was sick of him already. It was just a bit insulting.

Well, he hoped he irritated the man. He took his phone, and was going to be in his home. Conrad had a feeling it was going to be a long stakeout.

Nevertheless, Conrad obliged the hunter's-Abner's- command and slipped into the car seat, buckling his seat belt habitually and wincing as the ferret jumped into the back. Mum had never let him have animals as a child, and after a few bad situations in which he'd gotten bitten/scratched/just plain injured and had been taken to the hospital each time because his mother was overly obsessive ("what if it had rabies, love? Or fleas?") he had just decided to avoid anything that walked on all fours altogether.

"Where do you live Mr. Achenleck?"

Conrad squirmed slightly, a bit uncomfortable with giving this information. However, after a moment's pause, he got over that small mental hurdle and cleared his voice lightly. "B-By 29th and 166th Street," he muttered, eyes on the dashboard, noting the lack of personal possessions, the lack of the homely feel. It just felt a bit stiff and, to his sharp nose, the scent of chemicals was a bit obvious. "It's, ah, the four story apartment." In truth his apartment building was shorter than most, which towered above his own dauntingly. But it was on a more decent side of town, and he was comfortable there.

Abner gave a small nod of acknowledgment as the car began to pull forward. He was familiar with the area- but it was an area where he received his clients, not where the scourge of the underworld normally lived. He decided that Conrad ether owned his apartment or still had his job to pay rent. But what could a _Vampire _possibly do for income? It wasn't like they had flexible working hours- perhaps a night shift? Or maybe he worked from home?

He'd find out eventually, he decided and focused on the road. There wasn't much traffic at all, and thankfully his passenger remained silent for the majority of the drive. Through he was uneasy for numerous of reasons- he rarely ever had a passenger, human or not. And usually, his hostages went in the _trunk_. But clearly, Mr. Achenleck was more than cooperative enough to be allowed _some _privileges.

Still.

He was a _vampire_.

A _monster_.

The artist stared out the window awkwardly, arms crossed, pulled into his body, almost rather… not shyly, but possibly the equivalent. He didn't want to touch the car, didn't want to make anyone mad. He just wanted to please.

Abner glanced at the man whenever the car paused at a red light or a stop sign. He wasn't trying anything funny, and seemed to be curling up into himself. He wasn't doing anything wrong, and as far as Abner could gather, _hadn't _done anything wrong.

Abner almost found himself wishing he would. It'd make things a bit easier for him if the enemy acted like an _enemy_. He'd be damned if he were made to feel bad about mistreating a _vampire_.

The car ride was quiet, at best. It mainly consisted of nervous glances at the hunter on the vampire's part. When he _wasn't _casting side glances, he was staring out the window, at the flashing lights of red and green. He calmed slightly, his shoulders relaxing and drooping… The pains and stresses of the night began to melt away as Conrad gave a weak sigh and fell back into the seat.

The drive was quiet. He glanced again at Conrad, only to see him relaxing into his seat. He… really wasn't going to try anything was he?

He focused again on the road, tightening his fingers on the wheel. No, no he couldn't allow himself to drop his guard. Even though he was a fledging, even though he still acted like a _human_, he was still a vampire. His instinct was to kill. To tear into human's flesh and to drain them dry of their life force.

_He_ was a human. He couldn't afford to… _relax_ around this fledging, no matter how weak he may appear at the moment.

Conrad nearly missed the apartment. "A- Here." He pointed quickly at it, snapping back out of his haze. "S-Sorry." He was apologizing for his lack of attention, his relaxation around the man who wasn't hesitant to kill him. He didn't really have a reason, but he just _was_.

Abner snapped his head back at Conrad, to see him pointing at an apartment complex. He ignored his apologies, as he turned in quickly into a nearby parking spot. Instinctively, Paradox jumped out from the back seat, onto flat between the two front seats momentarily. The creature looked up at Conrad and hissed at him before climbing onto his owner's broad shoulders before the man exited the car.

As they pulled into the parking garage, Conrad tensed again, finger on the seatbelt latch. But when the rat-ferret-thing jumped onto the middle, his hand pulled back quickly. The artist cringed slightly as the animal hissed at him, and for a brief moment he contemplated hissing back, then (over)thought against it. Such a decision seemed wise in retrospect as it leapt onto its master's shoulders as the hunter exited.

For a brief moment, Conrad stayed frozen in the car, eyes following the moving man outside of it. Then he too, snapped into his senses and exited the car, fingers nearly catching on the buckle in his haste. He also caught his fingers in the slamming door, but was luckily (for once) quick enough to pull away fast enough. Sheepishly, the vampire turned to the back of the car, arms crossed protectively over his chest once again.

The trunk was opened, and Conrad frowned at the bag lying there. Obviously, the hunter seemed to have been lying when he said that this had been short notice. How often did he do this anyway?

…Well, in a vampire home? Probably never.

Such thoughts drew Conrad back to the phone call "Abner" had shared with his… niece?

_"You always kill your hostages in the end so it never matters!"_

Conrad swallowed. God, god, _god_. Already he had begun to regret his decision. But what choice did he have? Every second/minute/day he spent with this man, complaining or regretting or _whatever_, was another moment still alive. So what was left?

Conrad was self-preserving first, over-thinking second, and complaining third. In that order. So in a way, what he was doing was in his moral code.

The hunter eyed Conrad getting out of the car carefully as he popped open the trunk to remove a pre-packed duffle bag. "Mr. Achenleck," he commented suddenly.

Conrad's head snapped up and out of his thoughts. What? What did-

"I have to say, your cooperation so far has been quite surprising. Keep it up, and this entire ordeal will seem much less agonizing."

Conrad blinked in surprise, looking the hunter in the eye (not that he could be sure with those goggles) for the briefest moment before snapping his head away. To hear the man say such a thing was…. Odd, for a lack of a choice of words. His arms tightened only slightly around his shoulders, and the artist looked down rather sheepishly. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered weakly, turning to enter the apartment building, still processing.

_Agonizing._That seemed to be the key word there. It sunk into Conrad like lead in a pool of molasses, sifting in and making him feel sick with its slow progress. He tried to shrug it off.

"Er… let's just go up." He bit his lip nervously and turned to the stairs, hesitant to head up.

The apartment Conrad had once called home was on the third story, but he hadn't called it home in a long time. Home was somewhere where you were meant to be safe, protected. And in the last few months, he couldn't have called it that, not when it had been taken roost by a vampire murderess, had become a home to a half-selkie kid, and was about to be the temporary home for a vampire hunter. Not when said vampiress had killed him, said half-selkie had driven him insane, and said hunter was ready to hunt _him_.

So it wasn't home anymore. Just an apartment where he lived. Nothing more really. Yet he kept it clean and tidy, kept everything in order, because that's what he always did. The routine was somewhat relaxing. He would never change that.

The vampire slowly pulled out his key upon arriving to the door. As he entered it into the lock, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Veser had, thankfully, locked the slightly banged-up door upon exiting—that was a relief. Veser wasn't an idiot, but he was often forgetful.

Turning the key in the lock, Conrad's fingers left his face to brush the slightly impressed numbers on the door. 2236. Familiar and artful. But never again home.

His hands grabbed the handle, turned, pushed the door open. And quickly, Conrad slipped in, just remembering to leave it open for his "companion".

It was neat, still, neater than he could have hoped for. Veser must have just grabbed some clothes right off the floor and left. Still, the artist winced at the dishes left in the sink, the stray sock lying near the bathroom door. "Ah, jeez. S-Sorry, hang on-" Conrad scrambled to neaten the mess, the almost nonexistent mess. Hands grabbed at the sock, shoved dishes into the washer. The same hands ran themselves under hot water with soap quickly, and shook the droplets off just as fast. Rubbing his hands together, Conrad turned back to his company hesitantly.

Following Conrad up the stairs, VanSlyk remained silent. The stairs were abandoned, and unsurprisingly enough given the ungodly time. This was good; there was no need for neighbors to start spreading around unhelpful rumors.

There wasn't much to say on the condition of the building other then it seemed rather expensive to live in. He was curious to learn how Mr. Achenleck managed to live here exactly- he guessed that it was likely it wasn't through any illegal methods. He seemed too…

Entering the actual apartment, he was quietly pleased to see that it was in fact cleaner then what he would normally see in other people's homes. Mr. Achenleck seemed flustered over the mess the… _human _had left behind. Taking this moment of distraction, he turns his head to Paradox. "Sweep."

It was a short command; one the ferret was all too happy to follow as he bound onto the floor and scurried across the floor, disappearing into the halls. Paradox's job was to make sure that there really wasn't anyone else in the apartment. He waited for a few seconds, never hearing his pet barking angrily or suspiciously.

"Er…. So, this is it?" The statement fell off as a question, as if Conrad were looking for some sort of approval (and deep down, he really was).

Abner returned his attention his "host". Was he seeking… approval? Exhaling softly, he moved his gloved hand to free his face from the mask and goggles. He only wore them in case of a potential fight- therefore potential _blood_ splatters. But it seemed that nothing of the sort would be happening soon. "Hrm…"

As Conrad sheepishly stood before his guest like a child before a parent, he paused briefly for a moment to question the wisdom of his actions (for what must have been the third or fourth time that night). He was taking in a _hunter_ for God's sake. A _killer_. Perhaps the man didn't see it like that, but _still_. And the hunter wouldn't hesitate to kill him, of course he wouldn't care i-

Said hunter lifted a hand and Conrad cringed slightly away, only to be witness to the strangest sighting; "Abner" had removed his mask. Said action revealed deep-set eyes and a straight nose, a tight and straight mouth, and dark and thick sideburns.

A face to his captor and guest.

Peering at the hunter, the artist resisted biting his lip in something akin to intrigue. Such an interesting sort of face, with nearly sharp planes and impossible curves. Somewhere deep in Conrad's little artfaggy heart, he wanted to draw that face. Only for a lingering moment of course, but…an interesting face.

It was surprisingly clean- far better than how those other vampires normally leave behind their living spaces anyways. But it was still… tainted. Someone that shouldn't be alive was 'living' here. Not that Abner planned on answering his questions; even if it was mostly harmless.

Internally shaking his mind clear, Conrad blinked rapidly in anxiety and pushed his glasses up his nose as the hunter studied his home. He paused for a moment, trying to return his focus on what he had been thinking before he had gotten distracted by… let's not think about it. Where was he?

Ah, right. The hunter wouldn't hesitate to kill him, he didn't care the monsters had been people before. If they had _lives_ or _families _or… wait. Where was the rat?

Just then the hunter heard Paradox barking in the other room, and a loud clattering. Before he could move, the ferret zipped back into the living room, back leg tangled in a strange cord, weighed down by a stick and a black plate- a plate that at one time must have shone flawlessly but was now riddled with scratches due to being dragged across the floor.

Where—a bark made Conrad's head turn sharply towards the door to his room, just in time to note the little creature flying out of it, leg twisted in cords that led to—oh no.

"Ma—My—bu—" Face falling in what must have been some sort of internal pain, Conrad took a step forward and caught himself. "Oh god."

That was his life! His career! His—ohgodohgodohgodAGH.

It was going to be a long stakeout.

Pained and lost expression replaced by one of irritation and annoyance (and repressed anger), Conrad rubbed his forehead and again hesitantly approached the rat, aware of its owner behind him. "Shit. Just…gah."

His _tablet_. Lord, that thing had taken forever to afford; Lord knows his mother never gave him any money for anything—what, was he going to buy a gun or something? Shoot himself?

Whatever. Just… God. Now it was ruined. Usable, but scratched to the point of… "Ngh."

Not one all too tuned into the latest gizmos, (especially ones of the _artful _variety) it was beyond Abner of what exactly his partner had tangled himself into. It didn't look very valuable- But apparently it was very important to his "host". Seeing it being abused actually caused him to forget how to speak properly for a moment.

Not that any of that mattered really.

What did matter was the fact that Para seemed to have gotten himself hopelessly tangled in the wires of this… _thing_. He moved to untangle him when his host, whom was closer, beat him to it. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, restraining himself to bark at that spawn of the devil to _get the fuck away_ from his partner.

The vampire made no closer move to the ferret, but stared at it, a frustrated frown plastered over his face. "I'm not going to… unh." Grumbling angrily, he made move behind the ferret, pulling the cord slack (much to his own unhappiness, what damage was he causing his equipment?) so the thing could get free.

No way was he touching the little beast, no way in hell. But he needed his stuff back.

The hunter paused and looked over the scene again. Mr. Achenleck wasn't touching Paradox. He wasn't even trying to get near him. Though still tense, he did get over his would-be-fit before it ever surfaced. He was still far too close for comfort, but he did have a reason. A good enough reason anyways.

While the vampire was busy trying to untangle the cords from a distance, Abner knelt down next to Paradox, who was still growling bitterly at being caught in such a strange contraption.

Kneeling on the ground, Conrad kept his focus on the carpet and the cord in his fingers. "Let's just… you keep the beast away from my stuff and I'll play along as quietly as possible." The vampire played with the cord lightly, unhappily. Sure, the hunter could force his silence with the gun, but this was easier… right? Leave me alone, I'll leave you alone?

Eyes tracing back to the tablet, Conrad felt his shoulders fall unhappily. This was just too bad of a night. Really. Couldn't he get a _little _break?

Abner didn't nod at that- only because he didn't like the idea of nodding to a line that included calling Paradox a lowly _beast_. He couldn't blame him though for saying that though- he didn't expect Para to _destroy _anything, especially in the two minutes of first arriving here.

Freeing Paradox, he sighed as it bounced back onto his shoulders. "He was only making sure that there wasn't anyone else in the apartment," he explained. And normally, most vampires weren't in a possession of a computer, let alone all the _knick-knacks_ that go with it. That could be due to the fact that most vampires lived before computers became more mainstream, and found little to no use for them. _This_ vampire was changed maybe not even a few months ago.

The animal got free, but Conrad didn't move from his position on the carpet. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired, almost as though he wanted to curl up in bed and not wake up for a year.

But he had already told him that there was no one there. The hunter hadn't believed him, go figure. Conrad rubbed his eyes bitterly, jaw flexing and cracking and spine following suit as he rose finally from his position on the apartment floor. He pulled the near-ruined tablet to his feet and picked it up, running his hands over the scratched surface.

The artist gave a weak sigh (again with the unnecessary sighs) at that. "Yeah. I know." The vampire didn't want an argument then, he was just too _done _with the night to handle anything more.

"I will apologize for the harm done to your…"

A pause.

"…Toy?"

What else could it be? Really? "My only intention is to draw out your sire to get rid of her- not to pointlessly damage your property." And Paradox was sure not to do anything, as it didn't enjoy being outside of a certain distance away from him. Unless ordered to 'sweep' again, it'd be quite easy to keep an eye on the creature.

The vampire looked up then, eyebrows knitting together unhappily. He resisted a scowl, chewing on the angry thoughts rolling though his mind. Finally, he spoke, tone slightly bitter.

"Hn. Not toy so much as tool. I'm a graphic designer, I use this to work," he explained almost weakly and exhaustedly. The artist didn't _want _to explain himself to the hunter, but better to get it out sooner than later.

He supposed.

He also supposed he didn't care at this point. His stomach was still bothering him, and despite the fact there was still some time 'til sunrise, Conrad just wanted to sleep. Sliding the tablet under one arm, he turned his back on the hunter, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to bed, it's been a very long night and I'm tired." He felt himself draw in, smaller, tighter.

"Help yourself to whatever. Guest room's all yours, can't guarantee it'll be at its cleanest. Had a teen delinquent in there, at any case." The last part was meant to come off as a joke, but it was half-hearted.

He began to walk away towards his room, fingers weakly looping in the cord of the tablet to keep it from dragging. Hesitating in the doorway, Conrad turned back to his guest, his new roommate.

"…Good night, I suppose." Not waiting for an answer, he turned back into his room and closed the door, hand resting momentarily on it before pulling away and falling to his side. The artist placed his tablet back on the desk in his room and slipped towards the bed, shrugging off his sweater and tugging off the rest of his clothes, changing into his sweats and t-shirt.

It was weird, he supposed, the stakeout. It was going to be uncomfortable and awkward and downright threatening. And scary, not to mention scary. But as he slipped off his glasses and shut his blinds, he found he was too tired and aching to care. He felt hurt all over. If this made him feel better, if it kept him alive, then he could deal with it.

At least, he thought as he fell into bed and tugged the comforter over his head, he hoped he could deal with it.


	9. Interlude: Memories

A/N:A day late because of my recent camping trip. Said it once, will say it again: I hate camping.

This is the last bit we have written so far of Obsessions. My partner and I have yet to start of night two of the fiasco for the two pairs, and my school year starts up next week. Needless to say, updates will be a while. I'm sorry for that but please forgive us; it just wasn't in the cards.

Anywho…

Interlude timez. Written, separately, from our usual sort, but edited from its raw form.

At this point in time we have an old _old_ memory of Cas and Finas still in Italy. It takes place almost hundreds of years before the current plot, I'd like to say. But it's just as important as the other chapters.

**|.|.|.|.|**

It was 1:30 am. Casimiro had told him he would meet him almost over an hour ago, and Finas had been waiting on the roof of the structure for that long. He was growing impatient.

What on earth could be so important that Cas would be over an hour late on a time _he_ chose? What, did he choose the grab a snack on the way there? What if he caught attention? He was so messy with his food, and people knew him in Italy, what if he was recognized?

Worrying aside, Finas was aware the moment Casimiro landed lightly behind him.

"Buona sera Finny-ass." The Italian's voice was light and careless, as though he hadn't been aware of how long he had kept his fellow vampire waiting. Like he was oblivious.

Truthfully, Cas had been reconsidering coming at all. He'd been a metaphorical inch away from spending the night out and alone. "You haven't been waiting long I hope?"

The Englishman resisted rolling his eyes at both the nickname and the light comments. The comments he could live with, but those nicknames… he'd never get used to those. The Italian was ridiculous.

"You're an hour late." He didn't turn to greet his companion, but remained looking out to the view. "What was so important that you are an hour late?"

Finas was somewhat irritated. But he would live.

The taller vampire scoffed. "Why? Did I make you miss a _date?_" Joining Finas on the edge of the building, Casimiro stared out in the view, a small smile playing on his face.

"She's quite beautiful tonight isn't she? _Itallia mia bella._"He was dodging the question, he knew, but he had a feeling Finas would let it go.

The Englishman studied his companion from the corner of his eye. "She is."

"Though, we're leaving it soon aren't we? La cangne 'e di lasciare il paese..." the taller vampire paused, remembering that Finas couldn't translate most Italian. "Well, you know the reason."

Finas returned his vision to the landscape, his own thoughts far in another country, where the trees grew high and the stars shone with a brightness and a pattern he knew like the back of his hand.

He missed England.

"We're leaving, yes." He returned to the present and brought his gaze to the other's face. "You're sure about this?"

It was a pointless question. Finas knew that the Italian was sure. Still, it was a question worth asking.

"Of course I'm sure!" The exclamation was meant to come of as eager, but there was a harshness to the tone that shouldn't have been there. The shorter man noted the harsh tone, but did not comment. The Italian sighed out of habit.

"But once it's done..."

He stared off into the distance, the smile returning.

_Onceit'sdoneonceit'sdone_

"We should come back. Maybe go by Atonio's bar and get a _drink_ to celebrate." By drink, he naturally meant a human snack; it was taken that way by both men.

His grin wavered as he remembered he wouldn't actually take part with his friend. But, it was nice to pretend. Finas would have to take the drink by himself, hopefully out of memory or respect.

And hopefully, _hopefully,_ he'd get the explanation he deserved.

Hopefully.

Antonio's…

Finas remembering Cas pointing it out once or twice. "Yes. I suppose we could come back."

If it would make Cas happy, Finas would come back. "Whatever you want Cas."

He followed the man's gaze into the distance.

"Whatever you want."

He didn't need anything anymore. They were vampires, they went where the wind took them. No rules or boundaries. Simply whims and wills. Whatever they wanted.

And only the stars to stop them.


End file.
